In Another Dream, I Work at a White Tower
& serve burgers to men in navy blazers. All of them / have gelled their hair.
Someday, they will all grow old / & wear tweed suits, but today / they have
thin ties & smirk. Like they’re the most important men / in the world. The
type of person / who knows he’s a big deal. I can understand that / so I
add extra tomato & decide to be careful / with their fries. Leave me big
tips. When I go home / I pour milk into my root beer & pretend to be rich.
/ Then I wake up.
I Know I Am Part of American History
& I am okay with that. I know a thing or two / about country music.
Examples: a photograph of two men drinking beer / on a Thursday night in
Boston. A red & blue lollypop / with a six-inch diameter. A goldfish / in a
plastic bag, won at a carnival. Throw a ring, win a fish. I have so much to
say / about wild animals. So much to say about birds / stuck in shopping
malls, starving cats/ in the street. I want them dead. I want them reborn /
as neon lights.
If It Starts Raining While I’m Outside
I will hold a teacup over my head / & hope for the best. There isn’t much
you can do / about nature. Not much you can change / unless you want to
ruin something. I am addicted to things / that kill me. Signposts swinging /
in the wind, dripping with rainwater. I am a lot / like a signpost in the rain,
but sturdier / & human. I have only ever been / human. That is something
that everyone has to remember / about everyone else. There is something
to be said / for quiet voices.
