Ray's Collected Stickies Poetry, No. II.

Dang, this one guy bought my "How Hangs Your Dirt" poem for two hundred and eighty bucks! It kind of tickled my fancy for posting more of my poems, so here goes. This is the second poem I ever posted here, as far as I can remember.


ALL THE HAPPY MEN

Here come the happy men
up the escalator from the subway.
They do not keep floating up
when they reach the top, however.

They do not/keep floating/at all

They disperse wide and to the left
and buy a Wertzel's Pretzel with Jalapeño Cheddar
or also consider looking at the orbous Mexicana
at the jewelry cart
where no-one ever goes.

There go the happy men
They blew through this place
The Mexicana has been looked at;
The gourmet pretzel sits on wax paper,
half-eaten,
on top of a trash can near the exit.
It looks like a sad greasy mess.

The morsel left behind
Unloved and unfulfilled in purpose
Who will care about
the morsel left behind.

Who?

The sad men.

- - - - - - -
—Ray Smuckles.


So, I wrote that one afternoon when I was down at the mall and it was around five fifteen. All these workaday dudes, from lawyers to bankers to students and clerks, got off the subway and kind of whipped through the joint like a ripple of nature. I people-watched for a while, and when I was on my way out I saw this one five-dollar pretzel half-eaten on top of a trash receptacle. For some reason that wasted food became the emblem of everything that is wrong with America. I ain't a big America-hater, but I do know that we could do a little better about wasting stuff. I felt kind of a pang when I realized that the pretzel was just going to sit in a landfill until diseases and a hyena ate it all up. A pretty sad way to go, if you think about it.

Okay, I will probably post more poems later. I've been going through them and I have some stuff that is sort of meaningful to me. Contact me about purchasing these poems.

Poetry from Ray's Collected Stickies.

Yo, so I had some poetry published in the Achewood strip a little while back, and Chris asked that I pony up some more lines since folks was askin' for more outta my collection. I went through all the stickies on my desktop and got some of the better poems.

HOW HANGS YOUR DIRT

I wear my current dirt to Brubeck;
I wear my current dirt to John Alveoli.
My dirt goes to the Italian restaurant with me.
I have soft white ankle socks;
I just sideswiped you and made you think I am a rich girl.
I wear my deodorant one wipe at a time
I apply it in terrible cheap moments as the water drains through my cast synthetic sink.
I am a moderately aggressive man.
The raiment of man is dirt, in the guise of wool or cotton¬
We wear things,
and we dust for prints,
and in the end we are worn.
Because in approximately a thousand years
whatever molecules I was
my electrons
they will be redistributed.
So no, I am not going to return your email,
because I am depressed.

Ray Smuckles
May, 2005

Did I get a job at Taco Bell? Yes.

Yeah, I got a job at Taco Bell. I applied for the job, and I got the job, and I did the job. If you want to read the story, then you came to the right place.

I was puttin' a few back at the Smoke with Téodor last week, and it was one of those lazy afternoons that turns into a crazy-amped night. By about three we were into the Jack and Cokes and just all kinds of muckin' it up silly. Pretty soon he dared me to get a job at Taco Bell and I cold took the bait. We walked two blocks to the Taco Bell and I filled out an app.

Three minutes later the manager was puttin' some purple uniform shirt in my arms and sayin' mad stuff about bathroom cleansin' schedules. I acted like I took it in and I waited until he was done talking so I could go into the bathroom and put the outfit on. I looked like a complete idiot! It was hilarious, and Téodor was gasping as he took pics of me walking around behind the counter and touching different parts of the food-cooking machines.

The crazy thing is that none of the five other food-cooking employees acted like I was out of place, and every now and then I would electively squirt a dollop of sour cream out of the caulk gun onto a Taco or Bean Burrito. It kind of got me respect, in a way, to be the guy who controlled the upgrade item and used it at will.

After about a half hour the manager figured out that I was just fucking around, and Téodor had slipped me a little of his voddy flask, and I was feelin' no pain. The manager tried to corner me by the hot metal tray that keeps the Churros warm, so I pulled my sour cream caulk gun and drew a nice white-outline necktie on him.

One of the workers, a skinny boy, laughed at this but for the most part it didn't cause any disturbance on the line. We jumped pretty much immediately and walked on back to my place. I guess that I am fired from Taco Bell but perhaps I will get a bonus or a lawsuit settlement when the union does its annual union stuff.

Ray.

I ain't gonna lie — I need to get SCREWED, man!

I ain't need to tell you what this is like. There's nothin' in the oven, there's no bread on sale, there's...aw, this ain't gonna wind up as no kind of good poem. You know what I mean — I am stone cold in need of some pushin'! It's been too damn long! I don't know how I let my Needliness go unattended for these many months. How did I do this? What the hell is the matter with me? If I want a meal I make a tasty hamburger or I arrange to have one made. If I want a shirt, either Battori Uomo or Hermes.com can provide. Ray got to take a nap? Ray goes to sleep.

I been thinkin' about this, chochachos. It's like a snowball: the longer it rolls, the bigger it gets. In my case, the longer I go without some pushing, the more it's like "why ain't I getting any of that sweet pushing? Is there a problem with me? Maybe I finally got to that age where the women just don't stop by any more! Oh no, man! I'm like George Costanza's dad!"

I got to stop the snowball. Maybe I got to lose some of this winter weight. That would put some spring back in my step and pretty soon I'd be sporting a sick new Fila track suit, open at the collar, chunky old piece on my wrist, just a hint of Gucci Rush around my edges.

Or maybe I shouldn't lose this winter weight. Maybe I'm meant to carry a few extra pounds! It all comes down to confidence. I seen a heavy dude like James Gandolfini just wielding so much power, I oughta explore that route. Ray likes Ray. Ray likes the good life. Ray likes women who appreciate a man who likes the good life. Marlon Brando was extremely heavy.