It doesn’t get much worse than this,
but I’ve lived through my childhood before.

I got this.

I’ve lived through my father,
a good man with a small mind built by lazy chemists,
and a temper from the kind of historical perspective
that should have made him a mass murderer.

I made it to the end of this street many times as a child.

Went left once at age nine,
and I made it out of that alive.
Took a right a couple of weeks later,
and I put up with that near-death experience, too.

Went straight through more often than not,
made it to the quietest view of the Pacific Ocean
in the world as I was once aware of it,
and I never believed in what I saw enough
to believe in the cities and freaks on the other side of the water.

Back then, baby,
the world was flat,
and fifty thousand miles of bad road
was worthy walking distance to wherever I wanted to go.

I’ve done that now. Twice.
No, wait, three times. No, wait,
you know, it’s not that big a deal
how many times it’s been.

I just don’t like going back.
The basics like to play classic rock music with big, drunk fists,
and these memories collect pieces of teeth
like I used to collect phone numbers from girls
who wanted someone else to believe Pluto was still a planet.

Right,
yeah,
there are some pretty ridiculous things out there,
and I’d much rather relieve a few of those right now.

Damn it. Goddammit, even.
Son of a bitch.
So on, so forth.
You just can’t choose what’s going to come at you
like an empty sky that wants to fill itself up
with everything it can find on the ground.

I don’t like going back,
and I don’t like being so close to the house
that I think secretly controlled all that ugly
West Coast weather I used to live with.

But I’ll pass it by on my way out of here.
Don’t worry, baby. I’ll even look at it for a second.

And thanks to these bandages
wrapped around my forehead,
and the all this black electrical tape on my nose,
I can even meet the gaze of anyone who might see me
from the living room window.

That’s right.
No matter how bad things might get very soon,
I can meet it all with intense courtesy.

I can get out of here with style to spare.

01/19/2013

Posted on 01/19/2013
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