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In A Fine Tooth Coma
by Philip F De Pinto
where am I going
you ask?
or you would
at eighty two
miles an hour
wish I knew
wish you knew too
so you could pursue
at eighty two and a half
so as to overtake me
and haul my tail home
home sweet home
where the heart is
purported to be and thee
where I am purported to belong
to someone
where the bulk of my poems reside
the all of which are lying in their bunks
straightaway in a fine tooth coma
a wonderland and profuse
from which I lack the egging on to waken
or they simply refuse
or they haven't the incentive to
as had Lazarus
or the poet in me lacks the ingenuity
or the Savior in him to spark a wakening
so many places to venture down this road
and all would be wrong
for one driving
in a car
belonging to no one
radio on
slowed down
at present
signaling a right turn
which I make
not my usual exit
but any exit will do
one who is lost
and no one is behind to
to pursue
the usual suspect
as I say I am lost
wending my way
and just yesterday
I knew the way
the entire spectrum
and choir of it
colorfully purring along
and was not asking myself
where I was headed?
I knew instinctively
knew exactly where
for you were there
not purportedly
but for certain
am no better off
for my slowing down
and signaling this right turn
which I make
which is not my usual exit
and you ask again
in the rear view
who I knew loosely
where am i going
at eighty two miles an hour?
and no one pursuing
at eight two and a half?
and overtaking you
so as to haul your fine tail back home?
wish I knew
wish you knew too
or better
wish that you were here
beside me
showing me the way
home where the heart is and thee
or we could forsake home and heart
and go on a losing spree
and be content to be lost
down this road simultaneously
not to mean heartless
and no one behind us
pursuing
the usual suspect
to give
a good god damn
if we were
as long as we were lost together
till the end of time
or until such as
our gas ran out
and if we did
why would we care
given the plethora of filling stations
polka dotting these roads
in which two are lost simultaneously
and so as long as there are filling stations
and we have stash
we can afford to be lost forever and ever
suddenly
from out of the blue
or it would have been blue
save the day was overcast
you are actually here beside me
fondling my knee
as was your usual to do
and saying step on it James!
although my name isn't James
nevertheless I say yes ma'am
yes ma'am
and so because she raises no objection
to my calling her ma'am
nor do I to her calling me James
it is going to be a fine trip
being lost down this road with you
until the end of time
or until such
as the road runs out
or the stash
or a cop stops us
and issues us a ticket
and says where's the fire?
and we tell the officer
no fire
we are just lost
just lost he exclaims!
in that case
I'll tear the ticket up
seeing you are lost
but only If you would permit me
to ditch the motorcycle
and join you
which he does
which makes one driver
whose name isn't James
one knee fondler beside me who doesn't mind being called ma'am
and one blue uniformed officer
sitting in the back
saying slow down you two
you wouldn't want me to cite you a ticket would you?
and where is the fire?
and seeing old habits are hard to break
we take it in our stride
and say
no fire officer
we are just lost
to which he exclaims
in that case
step on it James
although my name isn't James
and he is no officer
but down the road
in which one is lost
one could be anything one wished
anything one desired
and so while we are still lost and young
where are you wending
you ask
or you would
wish we knew
so would my poems
save they are in their bunks
all in a fine coma
or is it I who am in a coma
in my bunk
and not in my car
driving eighty two miles an hour
with the radio on
lost and slowed down and signaling a right turn
which is a wrong turn
always will be
when you don't belong to one
and I being no Lazarus - thus lacking incentive to waken
or you who would ordinarily be beside me
who it is purported is shacking up
with my poems
simply lack the ingenuity
and the Savior or the parole board in thee
or the hack saw
so to spring me from this fine cocoon
wonderland and profuse
05/04/2014 Posted on 05/04/2014
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 05/04/14 at 08:38 PM WOW,I would be happy to be going 82 or 92 or102 if that be your desire. As I would shack up in the backseat and you and yours sped through anywhere lost with me following in the backseat with those poems with which I have this love affair. We could maybe drive through the stars looking for a place to stay or rest or write or what ever one does on a stars beside burn up which is to say dead or alive. I love it! |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/05/14 at 10:57 PM Fun, playful read, that easily stretches into the surreal, like a dream. Gotta lay off those bananas before going to bed, James, or I should say Philip!! Great poetic comedy. Love it all, but especially the part about the cop. |
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