after moonlighting

it's taken some practice, but I've stepped up my game
since I see this F-train coming:
even if there are no street lamps to show the rollers
I know by the headlights behind me if it's a cop
though not if it's her
or Her
and thank God the third one doesn't drive anymore.
beware the trivialities that wear us down:
the doors that lock left
the screws that sink counter-clockwise
the rest of the counter-intuitive speed bumps
that spatter your days with expletives under your breath.

came home to a garden gnome on my dresser
and a life-sized cardboard cut-out of ken schroeder
staring at me through the window in the garage door.
(I can't even make these things up, my life truly is
stranger than what I conjure most times.)
it served to remind me that
though too solitary for my own good
I'm not as alone as I'd like to be
so believe you me, brother
I was relieved to reload it after weeks of neglect
now that I hear things in this finally empty house.

praying for peace or paying for a piece;
I know how it'll happen now
since the car really slowed down in the shower.
yes, the self-fulfilling ones prevail.

if that's the case can I place my order?

fuck it.
as long as she doesn't smoke.

but if she does
let her curse like a plumber
and drink like this fish, too.




Currently reading:
"The Complete Poems of Hart Crane."