Going Home by Eddy Van Horn



I wont be able to spit
on the floor anymore
and I’m sure there’ll be
a toilet seat I’ll have to lift
keep in mind the embarrasment
of somebody’s dry cheek..
I’ll have to learn ashtrays again
someone would probably be shocked
if I flicked my
after dinner cigarette
across the room or crushed it
in the leftover food on my plate.
My table manners,
along with my vocabulary,
will have to undergo heavy change
no more spitting on my tray (There wont be
anymore trays) or throwing food
under the table and conversation
about dick sucking punks and
butt fucking homosexuals would probably
ruin an appetite.
I wont have to stuff food down the
front of my pants to sneak back to my cell (I
guess there wont even be any cells) being that
the refrigerator will again be a part of my life
I’ll have to learn door-knobs
and light switches, the feel of money
and women how to shift gears at the right time
wonder if i’ll be able
to make love without looking at a picture?
Don’t think it’d be wise to tell my
boss to fuck off, eat shit, die
there’ll be a paycheck involved
and bills, responsibilities I’ll
have to wash my own laundry
and my own dishes I guess I’ll
have to start giving
it fuck again

Poem taken from Raw Bone No. 10 edited by Tom House in December 1987


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