. . . At closing time, we say our good-byes,
and I kiss Loretta, just a little peck, because
I know she is married to a chicken, and I respect
that. Waylon has made her happy in ways I never
could. The starry sky, the police hiding in the
bushes, God, it’s good to be alive, I think, and
pee behind my car in the darkness of my own private
darkness.
The entire poem can be found here: http://www.takethehandle.com/interactive/?p=790
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