Oh, Lemmy

by Josh Olsen

I sat in a brightly lit corner,
scribbling.
I'd been filled
with the desire to write again,
it felt good,
and I attributed it
to my new Moleskine.
Like Hemingway and Van Gogh,
it promised on the packaging.

Over my shoulder,
two men washed the windows
and I placed a forearm
over my words,
though I was sure
they couldn't give a fuck.
They had a job to do,
and they were probably laughing
at the faggot with the purple pen.

An Asian boy and his sister
turned on a videogame
which featured the opening riffs
of "Ace of Spades" –
Oh, Lemmy,
I hear your music
and I want to skull-fuck
a skinhead.
But there aren't any here
in the McDonald's Playplace.