rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Reset Nineteen, Day Eleven

I nodded off at the computer again and then thought, well, I'll just go take a nap until midnight or so, and then I looked at the clock and saw that midnight had already passed and Saturday was gone. Sometimes time will mug you and take everything you've got, but there are subtler criminals, sneakthiefs who steal away with hours themselves, and all that's in them, so when you realize your pockets have been picked and your watch is gone you stand there like somebody who missed the last bus in a strange town, and you don't know just where you are or how you got there, or what to do next.

Disconcerted and disgruntled with myself I went outside and sat in the back yard's cool night air to try to wake myself up, but in my thoughts I'm still wandering through unknown streets finding nothing familiar. I thought about the frogs I used to hear, and the owls, and the scent of jasmine in the night air, but that was in May, wasn't it? What did April smell like? New grass, maybe, and pine resin. It hardly seems real, now. My back yard just smells of damp decay, as I finally remembered to water it Saturday evening, and the leaves I never raked up but simply hosed against the low retaining wall are still wet. Maybe there's a faint hint of exhaust fumes from the nearby freeway, where the traffic continues later on Saturday nights. These are not comforting smells.

It's about time I tried to sleep again, but in the bed. Armless chairs are no place to drop off.




Sunday Verse



Satan After Hours


by David Lerner


people think
Satan is a rhythmic beast
breathing doom and fire
laughing rapaciously as he
plucks your eyes out

a comic book ghoulie
with bad breath and a skin problem

Satan is a bus station

Satan is a cold fried egg
on a plastic plate
a cup of weak coffee beside it
while the telephone rings

Satan is the bland smile of
the cashier at the bank
when he tells you you're overdrawn
or the glittering one
on the face of the angel in the blue dress
on the tv show
making you an offer you can't believe
at terms you're unable to resist

Satan is when you
run out of cigarettes and out of money
at the same time
when every part of your body hurts
and you're only 36
when the miles you've logged
start showing up in the way
you laugh

in the way you count your change
when the whiskey bottle's dry
Satan is the crackle of the police radio
just after they've put the cuffs on
as they laugh about the baseball game

the color of the walls
in a country hospital emergency room
the paper they make you sign
before they'll give you medicine

the bad food you eat when you're poor
a cough that won't go away
the kind of hopes
that get pinned on a lottery

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