Thursday, July 14, 2016

The Firestone Cycle

Lie to me about my truck
But do it well.
You are well practiced
So don’t cheat me of a first class deception
Filled with transparencies and travesties
Lie to me
And do it well
Because I do not want to linger
In your smoke screens of untruths.
And if you are going to cheat me
As part of this sweet deal,
At least don’t leave me sitting in your waiting room
TV blaring about some other bodies
Who have been lied to and cheated,
But only to the extent the FCC
Will allow CNN to pain our tender hearts.


Your truck
Might be done
Blah- bla-bla-bla
If not today maybe tomorrow
(Such is sorrow)
“Thank you for your patience,” says she.
“It’s an old truck,” says I.
So maybe, maybe
Come on baby!

I am envious of the cat.
So relaxed as to seem like and inert black puddle
With the exception of the last three inches of his tail
Which sometimes goes
Twitch-twitch, thump-thump
On the hollow wood floor,
Drumming out a meaningful message
That I think I can comprehend
As we speak a common cross species language:
It’s a story of anger.
It’s a release of much frustration.
My day ties its slip knot tighter and tighter on
Muscle and sinew,
Spirit and soul
And I have no terrible tail to release such frustrations
And only a masseuse’s elbows and knuckles
To free my nightmare molded muscle memories.


Outside the waiting room window
There are English Sparrows
Passing their afternoon
Bathing in the sun lite red dust.
They nest down, splash and play
Flapping and preening their grey-brown feathers.
Can sparrows smile?  I think they may.
For now I continue to sit
In the less luxurious waiting room at Firestone.
Management might consider a dust bath for us
The abandoned.






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