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
- because it’s easier and
- 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)
Multiverse Johnson 