Chet’s on Ativan

for everyday he knows today

could be the one,

tonight right after Letterman,

beer number seven.

It’s not so good to mix elixirs —

lager and lorazepam,

then both hands always full or

always empty’s not good either.

as he slowly gets the feeling

back in his toes, jumps up

off the couch to join

the pigtailed Prozac popper

polkaing down the country lane of commercial breaks,

clover and Holsteins on both sides feeding each other,

Chet, clueless

why nothing out here smells like shit

or ever has to.

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