Once upon a time
This was known as "the river of many fish"
We are told this as children
like it's a fairytale
our parents, trying not to laugh
as they tell us of a time
long before their own
when this was the place to be
If you wanted to be somebody
you came to the town with the name you can't pronounce
and you could have your American Dream
Newly free men and women
arrived early and bright at our train station
their sleeves rolled up and heads held high
ready to kickstart their lives.
The gears of industry were turning here
in the land of wine and covered bridges.
Once upon a time
there was a trainwreck here
a lot of people lost their lives
even more lost their way
as time rusted over the wheels of progress
and our water
once so full of hope and prosperity
caught fire and burned for miles in all directions
scorching the water, and suffocating the fish
Today
this is "the river of much pollution"
We have always known it as such
A town were depression is both
a hereditary emotional and economic condition
Where pessimism is our only tradition
The train station no longer operates
The free man's grandchildren's children are up before the birds
trying to find a way to kickstart their high
chasing the American Delusion
"Ashtabula does not have a drug problem"
The police told a friend of mine
as her two year old daughter looked on curiously
at a strung out stranger who wandered into their home
and took their bathroom hostage for two hours
He shook uncontrollably
His eyes overflowing with emptiness
By the time the cops showed up, he was long gone
tossed back into the river
The fish in this water have nothing to lose
If evolution is true, we can sprout legs and lungs
crawl onto dry land and breathe
but the current prevents it here
It's hard to see the glass as half full
when you can't drink the water
I suppose we could drink the wine instead
and stumble inside of a bridge
seeking shelter from the toxic rain

Every night I brush my teeth,
I lift up the blankets that hang over the side of my bed
and hesitantly peek underneath.
I sigh with relief.
No monsters tonight. I tell myself.
My finger lingers on the switch that turns the night light on.
Part of me knows I’m being irrational.
There is no good reason for a grown *** man to be afraid of the dark.
I tell myself, in my father’s voice.
But there’s a part of me, much deeper, underneath the fear even,
that enjoys playing this game.
It makes me feel young again.
It reminds me of a time before dorms, term papers,
bosses, deadlines, and death - looming eerily in the distance
Getting closer every year that I look over my shoulder,
before we learned that life wasn’t meant to be enjoyed,
only suffered and survived.
A time before the march toward Oblivion, in funny looking suits,
with high hopes that we can trick someone into thinking that we belong here
In this grotesque parade of strangers in masks.

I hide under my covers with a flashlight and old comic books.
Holding back laughter, with imaginary fear of waking the ghosts of my parents
who I  often thought of sleeping in the other room,
just like they did before they died,
One of old age, the other in a mid-life crisis motorcycle accident,
Leaving me the empty house with her romance novels
and his extensive **** collection.
I remind myself that I have work in the morning
which quickly drags me down from my euphoric nostalgia.

I put Spiderman back in his plastic case
and stick him in the dresser drawer
full of all my guilty pleasures and memories of  yesterday.
I then remove my mask and crawl under the bed,
where no one thinks to look for us anymore,
and drift into fantasies full of all those familiar faces
of my Neverland.

Want me.
Love me.
Desire me.
Choose me.

I need you

Ignore me.
Avoid me.
Disdain me.
Destroy me.

I love you.

I couldn't sleep last night.
Something about the sound
Of the trains kept me up
Thinking of you.

That night you stood next to the tracks
As one flew past
You said "*** you oughta try this"
"It's like no other rush"
I said "Baby don't get too close"
You said "Baby, I can't get close enough."

Go back about three months
I picked you up from the hospital
Another visit with your mother.
But you don't want to talk about it.

We get stuck at the same tracks
And the train picks up.
You say, "God ****** this is *******"
"This always happens, It's just our luck."
I say "Baby, it's moving pretty fast."
You say "It can't move fast enough."

Rewind a week or so
We were laying under the stars
And amidst our Deep conversation
Another Train rolled by.

I held you you close as it scaled the tracks
In that monotonous drone
You say "I hate this town."
"It's like a black hole- that *****."
I say "We can move far away"
You say "We can't move far enough."

I squeezed your hand
To reassure you that we can.
You just smiled and shook your head.
Like I had just told you gravity didn't exist.

That day, Stuck behind those tracks
I realized that you were right
That night, under the stars
You said "No matter where you go"
"There will be tracks that lead back home"
I said "So, Tracks alone aren't going to remind us."
You said "Baby, the sound of the Trains will be enough."

I couldn't sleep last night.
It's been seventeen years-
And thirteen states-
But those trains always seem to find me.

I said "baby, don't get too close"
You said "Baby i can't get close enough."
But this time,
You were wrong.

She is
faded blue jeans
with holes in the knees
a ***** white t-shirt
covered in mustard stains and engine grease
on any given Saturday

She is
black fingernail polish on a Tuesday
because she wants people to wonder
short skirts in church
to make the choir boys’ minds wander

She is
jealous of the girl who has
the boy she didn’t want
the lies she tells her friends
about the guy she hasn’t slept with yet
misplaced like lost money
unexpected, but refreshingly so

She is
a tongue piercing that she got when she was ******
that she takes out around authority figures
‘cause her parents do not know
the mistakes she will evidently make
as she will learn and grow
eventually going to tell them the truth
maybe

She is
trying to make you uncomfortable
just to see you squirm

She is
intelligent, and strong in her demeanor
throwing off the curve in all her classes
expelled for kicking some cheerleaders’ *****
in love with her history teacher

She is
poetry that breaks all the rules
the girl all the bad guys want
but won’t admit to
a guilty pleasure

She is
all of the above
none of it
and more

From behind your canvas
you peer up at me taking in the details of my body.
Your scientific eyes studying  me
cold
with neither lust or disgust
as if I were a vase
or a basket of fruit.
Not long before this we embraced one another
in the throes of passion.
You've never been more into me.
The skillful motions of your lips and tongue,
throwing my body into religious convulsions
and praising your name.
It intrigues me how you can turn that off.
How you can refrain from smiling
as you draw the outline of my ******.
How my naked body so near and ready
doesn’t cause that animal I’ve come to know so well
to overpower the artist in you.
I’m truly fascinated, filled with both admiration and jealousy
for that woman you are creating.
I know that In your mind,
we've never been closer
but you look so far away
hiding from me behind that easel
cheating on my body with your interpretation.
No doubt, she will be flawless,
and have none of my ugly imperfections.
She isn’t even finished being born and I hate her already.
Although, I’ll lie when you reveal her to me.
I’ll tell you that she’s beautiful
that I really like her.
Then, I’ll make love to you
right there on the floor.
Forcing her to watch.

On behalf all of us who make bad decisions,
and worse excuses for them
I’d like to say that I’m sorry

I heard about how hard you worked on that science fair project
and how the teacher didn’t believe you
Because a week ago, someone like me used the same excuse
to get out of turning an assignment in on time.

And I’d like to say I’m sorry, for all the exams you studied for days to get a C on
and all the ones we aced without trying.
I promise, it wasn’t our fault, we’re just lucky guessers
I guess we could be little Irish
Like four leaf clovers are running though our bloodstreams.

On behalf of all of us who cried wolf,
because we fell asleep
and lost track of a few sheep.
I’d like to say that I’m sorry
that the boss didn’t accept the puncture wounds as proof
because we went too far one too many times for anyone to be trusted anymore.

For always taking the easy way out.
For every little white lie we told, that snowballed into an avalanche
and took you with it as it raced downhill.

On behalf of all of us whose dog did not, in fact, eat our homework
to you, the kid with a genuine excuse.
I would have liked to say I’m sorry.
I even had this whole apology written out
-It was cool, and rather poetic, if you ask me-

But there was this freak accident this morning
involving traveling circus, a ******* and a ham sandwich
-Trust me, you don’t want to know the details-

Okay, you got me
I guess some old habits die hard.