“We’re Worse than Frankenstein’s Monster” By: Justin Karcher

The one night, Sam and I are pretty drunk on the Champagne
Of Beers. We aren’t really talking or anything,
But the silence is cracked open like an egg
When I foolishly reach for a can of beer and Sam says,
“Sorry, I drank it all,” callously and inconsiderate.
“Come on Sam,” I say. “I chipped in on the beer.”
I want to punch him in his lax face; you have like no idea,
But I quickly forgive him. “Eh it’s ok,” I say. “This beer tastes
Like blood and nickels anyway.” Sam is quiet like Tibet
And I wonder if he took some monkish vow of silence.
His mind must be on other things, like Russia invading Ukraine
Or how ISIS is recruiting fellow hipsters from England. Blood
Will be spilled and here we are, drunk in front an Advance Auto Parts
Like we always are on Tuesdays, trying to reassemble our bodies,
Hoping we’re put together stronger and happier. Suddenly, Sam throws
His can and says, “Shit man, the world really is a hospital made of snow.
It’s always melting, falling apart. No cure really lasts.”
Ever since his near-death experience at 17, Sam’s been obsessed with death.
The moon’s out, so I try changing the subject. “You ever look at the moon
And think it’s some tongue-tied piano, like deep down you know that
Cratered cue ball has a song just for you. But it’s being quiet, eerily quiet,
So you wonder when God’s gonna shoot it in the corner pocket?”
There’s no answer. Sam must not be speaking again. Well, one day,
Sam and I will break into the Advance Auto Parts and steal from
Their superior selection of jumper cables, so we can jumpstart our lives.

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