Monday was the day my mother died & I heard
about it via text after
2 shots of Canadian Club© and 3 Miler Lites©
at a tiki bar on a 32˚ evening.
There were red and blue and green
Christmas lights strung up
but I didn’t see if they were blinking.
Tuesday was my first date with
a girl from whom I bummed
We saw Pollack at an art house
& afterward, on the front step, I kissed her
under a security light.
Wednesday was when I rode my bike
home from school.
I flew over the handlebars and
splashed into a pool of
I saw the headlights of a stranger’s car
& he took me to my mother.
Thursday was the opening night of
A 12 year old Filipino,
in fake beard and make up,
bathed in the limelight as he sang
“pick a pocket or two”.
Friday was the day that Tupac died.
I went to a dance at an
I danced with a strange girl
& we made out to “Computer Love”
until the lights came up.
As I waited for my dad to pick me up,
someone tried to snatch my chain.
They were not successful.
Saturday was the next day.
Nothing ever happened on a Saturday.
Sunday sounds like a
Velvet Underground song,
or side 2 of “Kind of Blue”.
I French press the cheapest coffee,
smoke unfiltered Camels©, & read
The L.A. Times cover to cover.
Something I picked up from my dad.
By AJ Schmitz
AJ Schmitz, a native Los Angeleno, is working on his dissertation on urban representations in literature at Indiana University of Pennsylvania. His first chapbook, Ritual de lo Habitual, was published last year through Red Flag Press and his poem “Classic Girl” will be published this Spring through Words Dance. He currently resides in Fort Worth, TX, with his fiancé and two cats.