too tough to care

 

there’s this great big guy who comes to see me, he sits
in my big chair and starts smoking his cigars
and I bring out the wine
and we pour it down.
the big guy just gulps them down and I gulp
right along with him.
he doesn’t say much, he’s a stoic.
other people say, “Damn, Dude,
what do you see in that guy?”
and I say, “hey, he’s my hero, every man has to have a
hero.”
the big guy just keeps lighting cigars and drinking.
he never even gets up to piss, he doesn’t have
to.
he doesn’t bother. he’s  a boxer.
he smokes ten cigars a night and matches me
drink for drink.
sometimes he drinks even more
than I do.
he doesn’t blink.
I don’t either.
even when we talk about wo.mens we
agree.
it’s best when we’re alone because he never
talks to other people. he gazes gently too.
somehow I never remember him
leaving.
in the morning the chair is still there
and all the cigar stubs and
all the empty bottles but he’s
gone.
what I like best is that he never disturbs the
image I have of him.
he’s a tough son-of-a-bitch and I’m a
tough son-of-a-bitch
and we meet about once
every 3 months and put on our little
performance.
anything more than that would
kill us
both.