Bayoneting Sustenance

This is non-fiction, fiction.
…Figure that one out.

Bayoneting Sustenance
JCD Kerwin

I stay up all night,
watching the History Channel tell me about
all the presidents and what made them
(or didn’t make them)
a great leader.
It’s a marathon,
a marathon of watching me
grow more apathetic with every
click of the goddmaned
ticking machine.

(I hate that clock…
I guess I don’t care—
enough to get rid of the clock,
I mean…)

I live off coffee and cigarettes
like some teenage model with
anorexia.
But I’m content,
to thin, and
sink farther into upholstery.
Maybe by the time I emerge
as a tattered little butterfly,
the world will be long-gone.

Maybe I’ll find an unused stick
of cancer
buried in these cushions.
Worth a shot.

Or two.

(Sept. 2014)

Vomitus

It really grosses me out.

Vomitus
JCD Kerwin

I’d really like to know
why all these people
feel the need to eat
ten different times
a day.

As I sit in my cube
(a classy, simple drab-gray),
all I hear is crinkle,
crunch,
gulp,
and munch.

Makes me nauseous
when I think
they’re insides must be saying,
“Slow down, please!”

How can you really
completely digest
the oatmeal and bagel
from breakfast,
in time to inhale
a pound of leftover
lasagna?
(Remember to sneak it
in-between
your snacks of
chips and cottage cheese.)

I can’t help to wonder
what the hell they eat
for dinner.
No wonder this country
can no longer fit in its jeans.

(Sept. 2014)