semi-autobiography as SNL castmember

Anthony Borruso

now black bags sag well below my eyes     i’m smiling sad
                           and can’t stop loosing my sadness into stern
winds and laughing faces     I spin down the oil slick lane
                           a bowling ball in cahoots with the pins
did I mention     i’m pete davidson     or he is me
                           shaolin pilgrim at the deli buying gatorade
baconeggncheese     I look diseased     shoplifted kingly
                            in my yankee-fitted throne not quite
brando’s kowalski but honing     an anemic attraction
                            exuding BDE i’ve been fished
from a sea of mob wives newports GEDs     people regal
                            as me a momma’s boy with friends
who used to sling water balloon condoms     at city buses
                            light cigarettes behind the handball court
like existential flares     and I’ll never be colin jost or jerry seinfeld
                            i swear and my arms look too scrawny in cardigans
my teeth chomp at the laugh track     my voice lacks that
                            polished observational timbre that raised
pitch at the punchline     because i’m concerned with what’s
                            inside that gap between crowd
and stage     my jokes are serious as flaunting     kim k up and down
                            this deadbeat borough buying her milk duds
at the atrium ferrying     her uptown for heavy petting
                            pesto burrata wu-tang blasted through
monstrous speakers     as the pad fills with other   somber souls
                            six degrees of celebrities night-lush    
red-eyed     gloam-drugged reduced to strobe lights     and house beats
                            as i hover above myself thinking about our fathers
how they were ushered     from the least to best     known borough
                            how they were fed so soberly into the moloch’s mouth