My Self Pity Is Bigger Than Yours

I tried to watch Waiting for Guffman last night,

but I got so paranoid I turned it off. My life is sadder

than a country song without a good chorus

or royalties. I broke the blinds and had to staple

a sheet over the window. So now I sleep

against the mattress. What kind of man

owns one sheet and can’t stop drinking? Easy,

an alcoholic. My therapist says given my childhood

I’m lucky to be alive. Okay, well, next life let’s set

the bar a little higher. Oh someday poetry

is gonna explode out of me like a truck

full of fireworks on the darkest night

of the year. With my luck the truck

will be parked on the lowest level

of an underground lot. If self pity

and grandiosity were talents Rodney DeCroo

would be a household name. I’d only drink

the finest Irish whisky,

and never leave my apartment