Sunday Conversations with a Quieter Life in
Life Poems
I.
You've got a little place by the freeway,
low rent. You're not a baseball cap balding guy
anymore, I add. You're all hairplugs,
playing horseshoes in the back yard
where you used to keep the lawn chairs.
II.
Race you to the back-woods: icebox traincars
ticking by, you say, it ain't that far. Been driving
a parked Dodge, free of charge outta that trash heap,
middle of somewhere. There's room, the bucket seats
still dry in the sunlight. The electric windows
don't roll up. Is it warm below the sagging
ceiling? Baby, take that skirt off. That's no way
to see the wilderness. Growing around you
III.
It's been a non-stop all-week, traffic
lights turning away from me. You get pliers,
the tool-belt attaching torso to legs. The screen
door needs tightening though it will still bang-
bang in the thunderstorm. Lightning fucks
electric when clouds keep boiling over
IV.
And over the fence the sound of cars. Frustrated,
unrebelling
By
echoshindig
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Poetic People is a service mark of Broken Entity Media.