Pipeline

A Poem by Luke Nelson

Two hours, twenty minutes in the pipeline.

Go figure, it’d be the end of his lifeline.

It’s too sour, he’s too bitter for the good line

So he’s still waiting,

While they’re fucking, doused in white wine.


Born a coward,

Born a real redneck.

He takes a shower,

Then waits out on the deck,

A pair of headlights

Approaches in the nighttime,

Then Beaver’s heading straight for the pipeline.


He listens carefully

For a taste of the good life.

He waits patiently,

Standing like a White Knight.

Cone-headed, Bunny kills the headlights,

Then they’re both waiting,

Searching in the midnight.


Young Mackie

Is emerging from the tunnel.

On the corner, 

Jimmy’s selling funnels.

A young woman 

Kisses Mackie on the cheek.

Mackie strokes her head

And tells her about his week.


Three hours later Mackie’s drifting through the dark,

Bored and slightly stoned, he thinks he hears a lark.

He stumbles into a clearing where White gargoyles peer on by,

Standing with a bat of nails and a reason for Mackie to cry.


By the time some pigs show up,

Mackie’s blood has dried,

Seeping into national soil and leaking from their eyes.

The pigs follow a natural trail and happen upon the deck,

Where Beaver’s sitting quietly, puffing a cigarette.


The pigs tell him quickly that his time has run out,

But Beaver sits there quietly, ignoring their shouts.

A pig pulls out some metal and flings into the air,

But Beaver slaps a stupid grin to show he doesn’t care.

Opening up his mouth and saying some final words,

Beaver says he did the righteous thing by killing birds.

Then Beaver pulls out a pistol and shoves it in his mouth,

And suddenly another brain is splattered all over the South.


Two hours, twenty minutes in the pipeline.

Go figure, it’d be the end of his lifeline.

It’s too sour, he’s too bitter for the good line,

So he’s still waiting,

While they’re fucking, doused in white wine.

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