I am a champion of delinquent payments,
A jack of all trades not worth knowing.
I hang overdraft notices on the wall like degrees.

I have a Masters in Excess Spending.

I am the third grade poet laureate,
Forever failing Math exams,
Held back by the dizzying confines of

I am an emotional disaster
In dire need of government relief funds,
Of National Guardsmen with sandbags
And makeshift retaining walls
To keep me from affecting any more
Poor sons-of-bitches.

I am Hank Williams’ ghost
Playing tic-tac-toe
With Phil Ochs
On Ronald Reagan’s tombstone.

I am learning Russian in order
To better understand
What my neighbors are surely
Saying about me.

I would commit the most appalling acts
If they meant working nine-to-five
With benefits.

I am an anal retentive anarchist
Selling hope to infants
And sedatives to their mothers.

I am the month of August,
Sticky with sweat.

I am a suicide gone bad
And a homicide waiting to happen.