A.C. Cheesesteaks

This is a poem from a time when I was still drinking alcohol and eating beef (from before I was a good Hindu.)

I burped
a drunk burp
and tasted
an
Atlantic City
cheesesteak
(A.C. cheesesteaks are much better than Philly cheesesteaks - A.C. has the best in the world)

A.C. cheesesteaks bring me back to my Grandparents dining niche
in Brigantine
a tiny island off the coast of A.C.

One early Summer evening a drunk sat outside
in front of the entrance to the dunes and the beach
and started loudly cursing.
"Fuck this island! Fuck this place! Fuck everybody! Fuck you!"

My Grandparents
and their old friends
said:
"That's awful! That's terrible! There are children around! Somebody ought to call the police!"
And they did.
They arrested this man
10 minutes later

The Atlantic City cheesesteaks were delivered
soon after
At least the drunk didn't interfere with our meal

We went to sleep
under air-conditioning
to drown out the waves

A pit of existential dread in my stomach
and
at the same time
not a care in the world.

I knew I was young.