Slivers

 

The arrogant voice that glides through

My mind pretends falsely to dwell

Within my pocket. Unknown

Particles and crumpled gum wrappers

Occupy space in the corner,

And even though I wash and wash, the

Cloth still smells of Bazooka

And I can’t remember my fortune.

 

I live without understanding

And when they shout at me I cringe

And squint my eyes in the bright light.

I cover my ears with my hands and

Hear only my heartbeat and the breath

In my throat. I remove myself from

Questions and infamous people

And walk in dimly lit rooms

And never smoke cigars without tips.

 

He is huge and sweats. His belly glistens

In the sun and a fly is playing in his

Navel. The hair that surrounds it

Is wet. The gas pump is too hot to

Touch. But still they use it without noticing,

And open pop bottles with their teeth.

 

A car passes by scattering dust in

Its wake. It settles on the dishes

I have placed on the picnic table.

I shiver and though it is ninety degrees

In the shade, I pull my collar up behind

My neck to keep the wind from touching me.

I lick my lips for moisture and clear my throat.

Believe the one who tells you to wait

And things will turn out fine.

 

The paper they use to catch flies is full and

Hangs over the open salad on the kitchen table.

No one wants to eat it and

I wonder why she wonders why.

Silly songs and happy thoughts

Delight me in the quiet of the day.

 

© 2008 Diane E. Dockum

Just Beyond The Hill