There are a thousand terrible names
one person can call another, and I have said them all.
All my memories begin a little bit confused,
but I was eighteen and standing on rotten carpet,
there were short-sleeve shirts on a chair, my brother
and I in a trailer parked at the edge of a cotton field,
Nicky and Kenny, two guys we worked with,
all of us for my dad, cutting some meth on a small table,
asking if we still wanted to go frog gigging.
These are the people that other people say
shouldn’t have free health care. These are the people
others say should just rot. Natural selection,
rubbish to the wind, worthless pieces of shit,
and on and on. The irony here is that they
don’t care about health care, anyway,