it’s hot with humanity and steamed milk
the baby-faced soloist on stage
has a voice that shakes
fingers snap against guitar strings
microphone turned up too loud
I can’t enjoy myself here
too much about this bothers me
from the heat to the people
and that bearded cretin behind the counter
I’d rather be curled up with my woman
and the television shows
and some poems
the world has a tediousness that bores me
all I can do is drink more
and hope it gets better
