Roast beef on Rye. Pastrami on toast, a Rubin -
I only have thinly sliced bologna. Not hungry anyway.
Beyond a window, a dog is on my lawn, my mind shouts,
surprisingly the dog seems to hear me.
I have powers.
A record player drops into my mind
the vinyl is spinning, the needle is tracing,
silence roars on. I sing along.
I find an old British sixpenny-bit in Ohio
amazing how we all take teleportation for granted now.
A door knob rattles,
my ears get hairy,
am I being paranoid or is this nervous state
the result of living alone in my head for too long?
This afternoon I will still be here
watching my show.
You star you. I always did like your eyes
they shine like flying saucers.
Note. Make the bed before I sleep
I wrecked it last night.
If I remember, I will consider forgetting all of this.
Categories:
sixpenny, poetry,
Form: Free verse