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Nudnick
Nudnick
By Sy Roth
Self, I say
Self,
Wake up.
Your ganglions
Are asleep again.
Wakey, wakey…
Those around you, nudnick,
Are whirling dervishes
Those who come and go
In the Speakeasys of their lives
And I am a silent partner.
Wake up dammit
It’s slipping away
You’re letting it slip away
While the humped dowagers
Prepare their casseroles
For the hungry men who’ve passed.
See in their eyes
Your sadness, Nudnick,
Where’s the fun in your voyage
Careless self
Elf of the bygones,
Shelf where the platitudes lay
Dusty
Fusty hungry dinks waiting
For their revival
Wrapped in their silent home
Domicile of mordant cells
For the somnambulist to walk echoey corridors.
Awaken before it is too late
Or perhaps it is.
The monster is caught galumphing to Bedlam
And the nudnick sits on the side of the road
Waiting for him to pass
Like a hundred-car freight train crossing.
Wake, I hear it in my ear!
Wake the nudnik from its dream
The train is a never-ending circus cavalcade,
And he yawns as it passes by.
They all yawn as he passes by.
I yawn for myself
Yearning to avoid the parade
As my eyes close and sleep invades my reality.
Copyright ©
Sy Roth
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