Who can fault a man
for wanting to be stewed all day?
walking through the backstory
of other peoples lives
watching them go to work
and come home
and nothing’s changed?

Some days that’s the dream:
getting out of bed long after
the world demands
actually thinking about
how you’re gonna fill the day.
driving a car too old
to feel safe
not old enough to be cool
smoking cigarettes because
you’ve read enough today
and none of the bars are open
showering at noon
just because you reckon you oughta
and letting the balance of your checkbook
diminish however the hell it wants to.

Of course, when I had the chance to do that
I didn’t like it
couldn’t commit to it
some part of me couldn’t handle
that much freedom
some part of me wanted the chain
of purpose
that reason to get up.

Now I get up every day
and once I’m up
it’s fine
once I’m there
I can work
and draw my pay every other friday
and pay my taxes
and drive a car
old enough to worry about
like a bullet between
suburbia and urbia
speeding that transition
because commuting
like getting up
like dying
is the part that hurts.

Screaming in the Night

The helicopter whup-whups
low and loud
it’s been doing that for a week
in the dark of the new moon

I don’t know what it’s looking for
Some criminal, perhaps
on the run from the cops
bouncing amid our locked-up houses
like a pinball
running from the light

Or maybe the malefactor
drives the huey
from the police
or the army
or best of all
the 5 O’Clock News
Local and Latebreaking
just dipping the whirring blades
at the dark green earth
praying to frighten
the world he hates

Let’s say a broken man
a broken home
drunk and flying each day
on methedrine and
four hours’ sleep
while he drives a bus
or a garbage truck
and taking pilot lessons
because he always wanted to
and now there’s no one
to tell him no
nobody cares

Some lonely impulse
seizing him when he’s shopping
and he realizes that if he hears
this Top 40 hit
from his college days
in a supermarket
one more time
his heart will die
drives him as if in a trance
to the airfield

Don’t ask how he got in

Weaving and rolling
as much as a huey can
between charcoal clouds
laughing at nothing
waving with steel arms
at the whole county.

Ovid Was a Gamma

Like, seriously bro, if the servant
Isn’t going to open the gate, then
Let it go already. She’s probably
Just toying with you anyway, and

Even if she’s not, she’s married, dumbass.
You never know when a husband decides
To get stabby, and honestly, if you’re
That into risky assignations, try

Shagging a country whore without paying.
Your credit will be hosed, my dude, no joke,
And you might get beaten by the local
Collegium, but not dead or shamed.

Alternate plan: Just plow the whore and then
tell her you love her. You’ll both laugh so hard.