That John

poetry

My friend John,
He’s a sonofabitch,
and he knows just what to expect
when he steps in to a room
full of every other motherfucker
that he hates with all his passion

And if he could,
I know for all but a fact,
he’d take a Louisville Slugger up-side
the skull of every motherfucker
in every room that he walks in to,
because he hates them with all his passion

Really, that John
is no friend of mine,
but Jesus Fucking Christ they all
seem to love him so, and even though
he only wants to brain them so
he can laugh about it with his Jo-ann,
An acidic bitch all her own

And if I could,
I’d send them both downstream
in a side-by-side, custom-made Douglas Fir
casket with pontoons to keep it floating
and maybe even a sail just to make sure
it got the fuck away from us

But I can’t,
I know, because Douglas Fir
is a high-priced commodity, and the wind
just doesn’t blow so consistently upriver
and anyway, these motherfuckers, they
love their John and Jo-ann and I guess
they’ve never seen John’s bat
but I have

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