90s Grunge

This May downpour smells
like dead worms
tricking my age-addled brain
into sensing the distinct
smell of stale
cigarettes and mildewy
ashtrays in long-since
abandoned apartments.

Bursts of unbound joy
lightning memories darting
in and out, up and down
like moshers to the chorus of
mediocre. dead. musicians.

Star-69… oh, nevermind
you don’t really care about
a life before smart phones
and machine-made music.
When to self-destruct was the
the thing to do. And to
rebel against nothing was
the ultimate ADHD cure.

Here I sit now, staring
out the window at nothing,
the very nothing I once
spent my time rebelling against.
Pre-teen daughter, with her friend
Alexa together in her bedroom,
doing yoga, drinking anti-
oxidant concoctions, instead of
seething with anti-
society sentiment.

Cell phone beeps. Time for my
check up. Backing out of
a suburban driveway, the
bluetooth-cell-radio music begins
without hesitation, back to
the refrain I sing to myself
in the rearview mirror
every, single day of
my post-Y2K existence:

I’m okay. How are you? Thanks
for asking. Thanks for asking.

IanAlex 24/5/2019