saturdays by Geoff Neill
we hit the town
with our hearts alive and grinding in our chests
with the sun low in the sky
and the flagpoles on tall buildings sticking up
like middle fingers.
the money we’d stolen from the last town
burned in our pockets like gonorrhea
so we ditched the car and asked around for the nearest whiskey bar
but the first one we chattered into was full
of old men with slumped shoulders so
we hit the sidewalk
pointed our guns at people who weren’t like us
stole some money and cigarettes
and headed to the next town down the line
looking for a better good time
just like any other saturday night.
geoff neill is a poet and an analyst. he hosts poetry unplugged once a month and runs little m press. he has three kids, one wife, three cats, and one dog, and they have him.
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