On a Wooden Bar
"ON A WOODEN BAR"
I can't sleep and on these
nights, I stare into the
closet and look at hangers
with no clothes.
it's dark but I can still see
them not serving any purpose.
I can hear the clouds move
and the moon cry, and
tonight, there is a shrunken
man on my bookshelf, sitting,
legs moving back and forth.
I turn over, I can't see his
face but I can hear him. "you
@#$%^&' fool!" but I don't
respond.
instead, I listen to the
bombs explode after falling
from my eyes, I feel the pain
in my legs that keep me from
moving, I feel the pill I
took to sleep kicking in.
sleep is an escape... but
only a temporary one.
she's coming over tomorrow
and I'll forget that I have
no food, no rent, no drink,
that she left me while I
loved her, no life in me but
the sickness that keeps me
writing.
inside this small room with
Tchaikovsky and the ceiling,
heartache found me for the
third time in this city.
tonight I must go to work.
it's the graveyard shift,
I'll be in hell.
but in the morning the drive
over to her place will be a
blur and my swollen eyes will
try to take in all there is.
the shrunken man is gone now
and the ticks from my clock
went up as if someone turned
up it's volume.
there's a triangle on my
ceiling and a mouth with a
tongue and a mouth with a
nose that laughs.
maybe the square cover with
the sharp points over my
light bulbs will fall from an
earthquake and impale me.
but who am I kidding?
glass doesn't cut metal.
I’m a hanger serving no
purpose.
By: Chicano Eddie
Copyright © Chicano Eddie | Year Posted 2018
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