Bon's Off Broadway

Movie posters covered in sharpie 

on cluttered walls muffle mediocre

juke box—greatest hits albums & Creed;

an all-night diner that closes at 10;

the scent still grieving smoking laws.

Teenager sits opposite me with milkshake.

I nod, study walls, sip bad coffee,

search for late-afternoon conversation.

Questions: how’s school? Home?

Want anything else? How’s your sleep?

Things are fine. Sleep’s not a problem.

Good. It’s important for mental health.

Clean rooms. No screen time. He nods.

I finish my 3^rd cup, pay and leave.

At home, I shove clutter off my bed,

binge on Netflix, wait for anxious dreams.

Squamish

The trees are tinseled with green beards that must have been donated by punks who spent too much time in the sun. Logs piled-up in the river, some branches still have color. The fish are somewhere. Not here. They filmed part of the Revenant here. Those people would have died from hypothermia before getting a chance to be shot or mauled or scalped. It is nice to not worry about those things. My waders have a slow leak—half-way up my right leg. The water is only cold for a minute, then body heat takes effect—similar to pissing yourself. Round boulders—copper, white, and grey-blue make it hard to walk. God tells me my ankles hurt. The river is wide and shallow—quiet for once. I have no beer, but a few crackers and cheap cheese are good enough take a moment to think. I should Instagram this.