if you don’t quit smoking your curves will never grow

another morning another
rejection letter.
the wind has been
blowing hard
for weeks.
a rejection is not
an expulsion,
one must first be
accepted before one can be
expelled.

“it feels like
banging your head up against
a wall”,
she said, despite
having been accepted
a dozen times or more.
rejections come in many
forms, many times
the form they take is that of
acceptance.

one eye looks outward and
the other eye looks always in.
it can be difficult to discern
which eye is looking
at reality, difficult
to determine what is
real.

when you run over the bridge
you will be running
directly into the wind.
put your head down and
lean forward and
keep running.
it’s more of a jog.
it’s more of a plod.
your friend uses the word
“trudge” in a way that is
meant to convey positivity
and a never-give-up
attitude and this has always
been funny to you as to you
“trudge” is a pejorative term.

which eye is looking
at what?

if you are hoping to be
understood and you are not
understood it can be painful.
if you let go of hope it can be
bliss.

“how much pain are you in?”

“i’m not in any pain it’s just that i’m
having a hard time catching
my breath.”

“well, you’re having
a massive heart attack
right now so i guess you’re
doing ok, seeing as you aren’t in any
pain.”

it’s saturday at 7am,
730am,
8am.
not so much
prime brunch time for the
boozing crowd but prime
coffee and breakfast time
for the earlier risers.
it’s very windy yes
and it’s intermittently pouring rain
yes, sometimes a little bit
of hail, but still it’s prime time
on saturday morning
for a public place to go
that serves coffee
and maybe a bagel.

the streets
are totally
empty,
only a
scattershot of
pickup trucks
roll stupidly by.
there’s nothing open
in this town,
of course,
no place
to go,
of course,
just
$50,000 truck,
$60,000 truck,
$70,000 truck,
$100,000 truck,
truck held together by
duct tape.
sixteen miles
of road.
“these goddamned gas prices
are too high!!”
“let’s go
for a
drive”.

the wind is blowing hard
and there’s hail mixed in
with the rain.
there isn’t any place
to get a cup of coffee
or tea.
there’s no reason to
leave the house.
the gas prices are
insane.
lets get in the truck
and go for a drive.

before you hit
the bridge,
running,
coming back,
before you run
directly into the 30
mile per hour wind,
head down,
“trudging”,
on the flat stretch of road
before the bridge,
a garbage truck
is driving towards you.
it is still morning
and the clouds are thick
and low and so it is a
muted glowing dim blue.
the garbage truck
has its lights on and
these lights strike you
right in both of your eyes.
blinding both of your eyes,
even the one pointed in.
you close your eyes and
wait for the truck to pass
you.

the truck kicks up a fine
spray of mist as it passes
you,
its diesel engine wet
with its lust for fuel,
its giant tires churning.
the mist feels like joy
on your closed eyelids.
the spray smells faintly
of garbage.
you smile
and struggle
to catch
your breath.

blue plastic fish totes line a darker blue warehouse wall, in a gray concrete alley. a concrete ramp allows for the easy access of small-wheeled vehicles, to the gray concrete warehouse adjacent the blue plastic fish totes.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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