As smoke fills up the kitchen

As smoke fills up the kitchen
by Brent Austin
My brain woke up before me this morning
And scrambled itself for breakfast,
Which was quite kind and smelled delicious.
I should’ve been grateful for a hot meal before noon for a change,
However, between spoonin’ my bourbon baby
And the cold hard wood of the front porch,
Not to mention a raging debate
Between my stomach, liver, and kidneys
About who failed first or the worst,
I simply could not oblige,
No matter what good it could’ve done me
In my current freeze-dried condition.
Ankle-bones creak and groan,
While a musty smell like stale beer or urine
(Maybe a little of both?
Maybe a little dead rodent..)
Wafts into my olfactory cavity
From some cut up denim
“Fime mo minnups,”
Stumbles from my lips,
In a crude parody of the previous evening’s indiscretions,
“narly made it..”
With a wet thud,
A shudder, and wheeze,
I lay my head back upon its lead-paint pillow
Beggin’ it not to dream
As smoke fills up the kitchen.