poem: terminal

18 Mar

in a rich part of town.
a town i used to wear my mask:
lived day-to-day
buried in games of keeping up and keeping up –
fucked soccer moms built for revenge –
snorted dope in spider-web corners of mercurial garages –

a man,
an older man not much older than me,
not that much older than you
or any of us, really,
in a baseball cap,
haggard clothes,
holds a sign in his trembling hands –

TERMINAL CANCER
CAN’T FIND WORK
PLEASE HELP

a young sharp with pretty teeth and tailored suit,
behind the wheel of a new Jaguar,
pulls over, flips on his hazard lights, stuffs a wad
of bills into the man’s apologetic hands –

in a rich part of the world
a world we used to be a part of
a world we used to know and understand
an old man,
a man nearly 235 years old
dressed in red top hat,
blue jacket,
red and white striped pants,
stands on a corner,
holds a sign in his trembling hands –

TERMINAL CANCER
CAN’T PROVIDE JOBS
OR AFFORDABLE INSURANCE
OR EDUCATION

there are no more sharps waiting in line
with their fancy cars and trappings of a glamorous life –
it’s just us –
down here
in the mud and shit waiting –
always waiting –
always watching and wondering and hoping –
endlessly hoping –

instead of one car stopping
it should be thousands
but we all ride alone –
half asleep and dreaming –
and we will die alone
if we don’t remember how to wake up –

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One Response to “poem: terminal”

  1. evildick13 March 19, 2011 at 9:07 am #

    but we will all ride alone….. yup

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