Out from the shower

 

 

Downstairs, to my son, my partner sings

This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody),

halting where the instruments will fill

finding the words in her hand.

I put on a pair of clean white briefs

three o’clock on my mind.

 

Last night I bowled alone.

Going home, spoke to the driver

about moving around Ottawa

again and again and again

and again and again. He has a child

and a child and a child and a child.

 

Today, someone’s going to say

the drivers deserve poverty.

 

Yesterday the bachelor

went too long for my tolerance.

The gun games, the liquor tasting,

the big steak I forked for myself.

Ready for the brewery tour

the one guy without a desk job

clapped his hands & said,

“Let’s go see people work.”

 

Looking presentable, I left the Best Western

struggling to close my wallet, the neon sign

reminding, “If you’re here, you’re home.”

Near miss

 

It is no secret I know magic. Forbidden words

from my mouth trigger anger. We only hurt

the ones we love because we have a buffer

of expendable experience points. Otherwise

may we at least agree, when we meet

we have never met before?

 

                                                   Stranger,

I want to slur somebody. Life has been

so easy so far. For me, it’d be like

being dropped in a hard level

with just the one life.

It’s a total mess of blind spots

and potentials. According to the Sun,

now’s the day. Would you describe

the driver, their sex, their age,

their race? Could you pick them out

from a line?

 

~

The italicized line is from Stuart Ross.