Untitled (Small Town)

 

Winter kept me cold. I should have stayed inside in cold. But no. Work.

Inside my car will be just as cold. Oh, thereís no garage. Please. But first

Get to the car. The icy crunch under your boot.

The door to my car is frozen shut. And now itís frozen open.

Dumb lights. Thereís not even anyone there. And now that itís finally okay warm, Iím here.

Get out. The parking lot is far away because they hate us.

I keep my hair short so it doesnít exist.

I take advice because itís better than being kicked in the shin.

I try to take advice.

Stale internet. Cracked lips. They couldnít make enough Vaseline.

Dry mouth. It hurts to talk.

And home is other microwaved vices,

None of which can save me. No doubt, Iíd burn

If it wasnít so fucking cold.


When Spring came, all was forgiven. How could I fly south in Spring?


In Summer, I lied amidst the shade like a Caribbeaner.

Cuz now itís warm. I walk outside at night. The warm sidewalk,

I almost had forgotten. Slowly past the antique shops, space for rent, the little pub

Iíll never go in.

Thereís also this old time barber shop, and when I stop to look inside.

A little golden Cupidon catches me. What theó? Hovering above

The black hair chair, holding a little mirror, a three foot gilded statuette.

Wait,Iíve only got on a tight white shirt. It could be the fifties.

It could be simple. Comb. Just comb. Lucky. Jeans.

Itís been so long. Okay, now Iím loitering.

Itís warm, but late, so the street is quiet.

Iíll just stay out a little longer if itís okay with you. And anyway,

Home is just a four letter word. Eros is gesturing, I have two minutes.


In Autumn we raised our knees, supine at the bottom of the stream, like khuli

loaches.

And when I rose, the movers had all gone, and taken their truck with them.

And I am still here.

And I can hear the sound of Winter dead approaching.