Near midnight I’m held
hostage to the hazy upshot in the corner
velvet near a laced up tree and curious how I got here.
What a crowd! I think
and I think I should hoard my stash in my shoe.
Did you catch the census takers trying to autocorrect
the shelterbelt out of my history
I’ve been fending off elements
since I first showed up at this latitude so
I don’t trust easy.
In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1
you ask me outside
where the music dims
against the complicated bramble
and I love how the moon
is gilding the rusted basketball hoop in the driveway
and bouncing off the sheen of the rubber tree
and onto this fable
in a city that bleeds its saline soil
into another difficult year.
Into the fluorescent rough country
headlong into bulks of flesh
impatient to outspend me
and who wouldn’t fold real quick
under the weight of America’s sales and specials.
I believed then I didn’t
that I was different than I am
in my own skin in this infinity
mirror, instructed such
to seduce myself, to go on.
I am sorry
about the space I take up
about the panic
running around my aspect and my hunger
although it’s nothing
these racks of acrylic winter apparatus
won’t dazzle out of my head.
I’ll take several. I’ll take fistfuls.
I’ll tuck it into my mouth at night to keep me quiet.
About this poem:
“I wrote this poem because I find myself terribly overwhelmed by the experience of shopping, by all the stuff and all the people, and all the people in a frenzy over all the stuff. I get confused and I can’t breathe and I can barely remember who I am or what I want. And then I buy something I don’t need.”