Chicken Tonight


Chicken Tonight


Tonight I’m not chicken

or the semi solid sauce

that used to hold it all together


I am a middle aged man who still

pees in the sink sometimes


  1. because it’s easier and
  2. you can get away with shit like that

when you’re alone


and Darlin’, I’m alone


so earlier this morning when I was peeing

and preheating the oven

at the same time

I was also humming that damn theme song

from a jarred meat commercial

that used to run on TV in the 90’s

because it’s been stuck in my head for weeks now

like a tiny version of Dennis Quaid

or a photo of loss locked in the shed of a sad camera

so like a dumbass at random moments throughout

recent days I’ve been blurting

without conscious reason or coupling


“I feel like Chicken Tonight! Chicken Tonight!

Chicken Tonight!”


but there is no chicken here, Darlin’

there is only not you and a live feed of

the Republican Convention streaming on the laptop


There is only Zuul


There is only heartbreak and screaming

strapped to the ass of sunsets

and manic billionaires sweating

hypocrisy all over these cat pissed

up pages of whatever in the future

will pass for a history book


there is no chicken, tonight


there is only loss and the long loomed

reality that what’s been missing

will stay missing coupled with the fact that

we’re potentially only 4 months away from

the coronation of President Trump


there is no chicken, tonight

not in this place where her love

for me is like The Love Boat

without the love and my love

for her is like The Love Boat

without the boat


love sinks

even in that gravy slop

they used to jar chicken in


there is only loss here

there is only Zuul

and the unrefrigerated memories

of jarred meat


and that’s just: depressing

and I’m sorry


Please don’t listen to this story

if you’d rather not feel bad about love or

politics or jarred chicken

or if you’re allergic to stories

because just like the medication Xarelto

stories come with a long list

of side effects too


fiction can cause dry mouth

around your naughty bits


fiction can cause you to sound

like an old timer who says things like

In my day we didn’t have selfie sticks

if you wanted to take a picture of yourself

you duct taped a Polaroid to your dick

and screamed Cheese!


fiction may take human form

and murder you in your sleep


so if you have dry mouth on your crotch

or have been murdered stop listening

to me now and start listening to

something else instead


I should’ve read something different tonight, maybe

I should’ve read my Dennis Quaid story


Dennis Quaid in the streets, Randy Quaid in the sheets


but I don’t feel like reading Dennis Quaid

right now I feel like chicken, tonight

chicken, tonight


chicken tonight




(written for last night’s FBomb show, Mercury Café, Denver CO)

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