Imitation Entries Week 3

Both of this week's entries come from Adrian Matejka's "Mixology."

Entry 1:
From "Winter / Weird Fishes"
"Every morning, you loiter/ like a middle-aged sugar mama/ once the sun's up, hoping/ to be more than a meal ticket."

Every morning, I loiter, a middle-aged
Go-nowhere, do-nothing kinda way about
my life and these streets, sidewalk I walk
when the sun comes up, and I’m hoping,
you’re hoping to buy my meal ticket for
Tuesday, not that I asked, I just assumed,
assuming you’ll be around this side
of town, of sidewalk to talk, talk about
sun’s and sons and Sons and meals,
but I always turn it into me-alls and I know
that, know that I’m sorry. I know you’re not
anyone’s sugar mama, but I would be your sugar,
Mama. I know you better than you know I do,
don’t know when I’ll know about anything more
than loitering and leaving, leaving you
in the dust of my transgressions, sweeping
up sidewalk chalk and negative talk. I’m sorry
I forgot my wallet, I told you that but you know,
knew I’d do this. I always do this, don’t do
anybody any good, just loitering, littering,
pitter pattering and taking up the space
and leaving you in space, my sun.


Entry 2:
From "An Old Hand"
"But this man shook my hand/ like he was the lucky one./ Instead of that being me,/ counting up my nickels/ at the end of the day, hoping/ they make some kind of sense."

They make some kind of sense, I guess, nickels but who needs ‘em? Who needs me,
Weak in the knees, Snickers kneads my abs like a baker, a broker (I’m overdrawn
$1.27) broken by an office space, a space ship, a ship wreck and I can’t do it anymore.
It’s never hot enough and you’re always on fire. I’m not paranoid but I have this pair
of noisemakers… I’ll sell them to you, your lucky day, my luck is changed from that time
I paid my rent in nickels in dimes, spending too many fives on dime bags and sorority hags,
haven’t cut my hair in months and I think my mom hates me now. He was the lucky one,
didn’t have to do nothing but be born. That man, at the end of the day, he’s the lucky one…
A right hand man, didn’t do nothing to deserve it, just be born was all… instead of that
being me, it was him, the lucky one. But Disaster don’t care about your luck. She asked
for him by name because it was her turn. Man then me, she said, man then me, she managed
to mask it by playing on your superstitious “when you turn fiftyish” and he didn’t even
know if that word was real but he knew her real well and she always
make some kind of sense.