the chest rattles to wake me
an unwelcome alarm
i hawk out yellow phlegm
and feel like crap
but i have commitments today
i’m on way
but it’s on display
something ain’t right
and no matter how i fight
i am going to get sent home
i wake at 3
feel mostly ok
a mystery
for the day
making me wonder if i imagined it all
and then i get a call
the bathroom
is all bowels and blood
and for a moment i feel the day’s dull thud
like some kind of rebuke
i lay there and read kerouac
like i used to do
more gut issues
wake in the night
acid sluices my throat
sickly sweet
burns my windpipe
makes it hard to breathe
i get up to puke
try to lay back down
stomach swims
get back up to puke again
drink some water to take the taste away
get an extra pillow to raise my head
wheeze as i try to breathe
cough up phlegm
pause, try to lay down again
then
cough up more phlegm
i wake up with only light nausea
have to go to the medical clinic for a note
pin cushion blood draw
pushed around
given an ultrasound
to discover my gall bladder’s fine
gastroenterologist next time
there are rules
in this world there are rules
designed to protect us from fools
and to protect them from themselves
if one ever delves
into the insanity
that plagues humanity
in the form of small print
he will get a hint
as to why we haven’t conquered the stars
or even got a city on mars
this anal retentiveness
which displays remarkable inventiveness
is the thing that bars
ascendance
sandwich maker
the interest which i have in your custom
extends to the speed i bust ’em
out and get you out the door
you want a sandwich or you want more?
because i have little left in my life for you
and it’s true
you don’t look like the kind i’d talk to anyway
and i won’t change that anyday
i nod and signal to my fellow staff
trying to have a little laugh
and yes it is at your expense
do i care if you take offence?
no, because people always want something to eat
and there is plenty of traffic on the street
do i care about a five star review?
no i don’t, so fuck you
are you going to be eating sandwich rage?
maybe — i don’t earn a living wage
i come here every day for this shit
and occassionally i get some wit
who thinks he’ll poke fun at my life
this is for cutting sahdwiches; not a butter knife
is it reallly worth the risk?
this is why i’m brisk
what i can to lift them
helping people is the thing
and when you work that magic
and fix a heart
you achieve an art
that can be an ephemeral beauty
but it is still your duty
to chase it
stood before the damage; you face it
i want to offer help to everyone i meet
without help i feel i leave things incomplete
when i meet people on the street
when they come up and ask
i have the task
to do what i can to lift them
a small splash
chores in summer heat
they have me beat
but i am on my feat
moving through the community street
over to the dumpster alive with flies
to give them cat food tins as a prize
the recycling bins feel like lies
because the local recycling plant manager was fired
and though i am still inspired
i know for months of recycling became trash
and the guilty party got a golden handshake
an ocean of rubbish in which we make
a small splash
slow echo
i am a slow echo
of the slow movers around me
those with no bustle
those with no hustle
who cause a kerfuffle
when you push at them
i am sisyphus behind the rock
atlas holding up the world
i am blanked in the shock
into a shadow hurled
i will have to pick up the pace
remember the face
and retrace
my steps into movement
gaining momentum
at a clip
day events 