I could even dust off the cuts and bruises
and look like I had just gotten into town
for a six-month stretch of work and any place
where the cab drivers don’t need firearms
to drum up repeat business.

Most things come back swinging.
They almost always spring to life when it’s time
for the last remarks from the peanut shell gallery.

Most things. I’ve become convinced
the world only has but so much room for love
or just dialog to keep the strangers around.

All of this was as recent as two months,
so it’s hard to say what happened. I’ve been spending
a lot of time by myself. It’s been too quiet
walking through the eight p.m. mob
drinking out of plastic cups and trying to find
out where the music is coming from.

I don’t even know what to say
to the guys and girls who are in-between
apartments in the sky. They make it so easy. They even have pen
and paper ready if I have anything on my mind and can give them
gas money to walk to the bus station.

The grocery store is always a madhouse. I think
that I could at least apologize to anyone
I run into with my bad luck at choosing functional shopping carts.

They just glare
and occasionally toss a hatchet my way.
I wait for my phone to ring
and pretend my shopping list is tattooed
to the flesh-tone floor.

God knows what’s happened to me,
or maybe there’s someone else
who can help me out.

I think of a lot of people,
and I usually think of her, too.

She’s only about five hours from here,
but she’s gotten wise to my phone number
and bus tickets that actually did mean
to pass through her town in the middle of a thunderstorm.

I keep trying,
and I keep thinking I’ll snap out
of not knowing how to respond to anyone
in my neighborhood who wishes me a good morning.

I’ve even started going for walks
with less than twenty dollars in my pocket
and my photo I.D. somewhere in the distant future.

It’s been a lot of walking around groups of ten
and thinking that they would just take a step back anyway
to wonder what the hell is wrong with me.

Sometimes,
I think about getting a headache
and throwing a knockout punch at a city bus.

Other times,
I think about breaking all of my cigarettes
and using that as an excuse to get my foot in the door.

A few times,
I’ve thought that maybe I’m just saving
the good conversation for someone
who isn’t going to be pulling up to my street
for quite some time.

I think about a lot of things,
until all the broken stuff on the ground
begins to fill my shoes like rainwater,
and I decide to call a cab.

10/29/2009

Posted on 10/29/2009
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