Lisa reads in CT photo by MDG

Sick

everyone seems to have been let in on the secret
I must’ve been absent that day
I float invisible & bump up against you
you brush off your arm
wave the air in front of your face
because I’m not really there
the only radar I’m on are
other creeps, mentally ill, lost, damaged, freaks
I’m sick
I’m sick
I sit here
like a goon, a slow starter, a literary malady
tired of spitting my soul into a moldy coffee cup
under my bed & blowing smoke rings
with it but the candles I lit
at the Virgin’s feet all those years ago
aren’t working
so I sip green tea & smoke my daily pipe
filled with bubble-gum flavored tobacco

I scream obscenities behind my windshield
but nobody hears

no one else seems to be mired in confusion
married to insecurity, awkward,
everyone else knows how to act, how to talk
how to work how to dress how to live

a streetlight flickers off
a dirty knife hits the asphalt
a phone rings, a dog barks
a homeless man closes his eyes to sleep
someone sips coffee at 3 a.m.
with wide open eyes

and I can’t figure out
any of it

always questions that need
answers but I never had any
to begin with.

© 2008 Lisa LaTourette

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