On Being Called a Drug Addict
the wheels just thumped
a jazz beat
(and it woke me
from sleep- with my Lunch
Poems) that made me think
I was somewhere else
like the drug-
stores
that all look the same
inside
only nothing like that nausea.
(not the sweat I get
from the stale air-
conditioning
not that prefab
disorient
from offwhite
prefab aisles
that all twist
in the same direction, all
born in
weak perfection).
the startling rhythm displaced
me;
its syncopated thump
contused me
and left these little ugly rainbows
on my arms
and that tattoo really goes
at the start from each station
but here
the cadence has slowed
(like the wagon wheels in an old movie
that spin the wrong way)
as we move backward it sounds more like a train,
more humane.
The wheels catch their groove and the pace relaxes
the bumps disappear -
it sounds more like a train.
Copyright © Paul Sylvester | Year Posted 2005
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