Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Scott Wozniak- Three Poems

Scott Wozniak is a poet, short story writer and chaos enthusiast who's works can be found both online and in print. He is currently putting the finishing touches on a graphic book of poems he hopes to find a publisher for. To help with that goal or for more info please visit

Family Values Paying Off                                                                   
We spotted
One another
from a distance.
He was holding
a sign
that read
the usual
laundry list
of lies--
“anything helps,”
“homeless vet,”
“will work for…”
“God Bless.”
My sign read,
“I smell,
I’m broke,
hates me.
I just want
to get drunk
and high,
spare a dime?”
The beer
in my hand,
(and not his)
was proof
that honesty
really is
the best

Patron Saint
He asked
for change.
I handed him
a bag of dope.
Thank-you’s fell
from his mouth
like Hail-Mary’s
from a sinner.
He gathered
his backpack
from the sidewalk,
and told me
I was a savior,
then hurried off
to inject
Amazing Grace.
I kept walking
on my way
to do
the same,
if Catholics have
a patron saint
of dope fiends?
God knows
we need one,
even if the church

The Night I Met the Baddest Man in The Whole Damn Town
I wandered in a blues bar
on Chicago’s South side
and wound up celebrating
“Bad, Bad Leroy Brown’s”
Ninetieth Birthday  
with the legend
and his extended family
of aging Hustlers,
Pimps, Hos,
and Gangsters.
As he sat in a wheel-chair,
I shook his hand, thinking
to myself, “He don’t look
badder than King Kong
or meaner than a junkyard dog,
I could take this guy, even if
there’s a razor in his shoe.
What a story it’ll make,
nevermind the details.”
The rest is history,
my memory wiped clean
like a bookies missing ledger.


  1. Edgy poems that cut the paper. I especially liked

    The Night I Met the Baddest Man in The Whole Damn Town. I go a kick out of reading that one. I do remember the song as well..... Great poem.

  2. Yes! "The Night I Met the Baddest Man in The Whole Damn Town" is a trip. Everyone one is familiar with the song, so the melody is evoked as you read. The contrast of the myth and the aging man, as well as the insinuation of that the narrator may have well taken down Old Leroy, is Oedipal. Every generation understands nothing of the ones before, each succeeding wave is new and immortal, or so they think--destroying, necessarily for independence, that which made them, that which came before. Really great job, man. Excited to see what dangerous shit you cook up next.