McGuffin’s got nothin’
but to propel
this darn
campfire yarn
done spun
from
a deserted
ice cream party
at the Just A-OK Corral.
Thumb and finger
circling back around.
Your release
to the great halfpipe
in the sky
consequently coincides
with the remastered
Tony Hawk Pro Skater.
Games we used to
play
at being adults
someday, having to grow up
yet
let
it languish
for twenty-some
odd years.
360°
circles back around.
Hanging back, you
duck out early
as was your habit.
No need to be the center of attention:
that was Bob’s job.
Puff, puff, pass.
It’ll circle back around.
Longing
to pick it back up again
where we left off
nostalgia
welcoming
with open arms
carrying me
drunkenly
to sober up
in the pokey.
The missing windows
of last night’s
bar fight,
whites
in my beard
stragglers no more
reflected in
the boarded up plate glass
you escaped from.
Rowdy crowd
circling around back.
Awake
and baked,
the hardpan
blazing already
at this time of day.
Feet of clay
I didn’t think
I’d have been caught
in this time-sink
drink tank
quicksand
of a calamity
I’d never prepared for,
dusting off these
trailing
wailings
dry gulch parched
and perched
a vulture
waiting
for my demise
circling back around.
Circling the Wagons first appeared in Daily Drunk Mag’s “Nostalgic AF: A Video Game Anthology”
edited by Nick Olson
You can read the rest of the poems here
Or you can support the poets by buying it here