I don’t want to be here
My skin is crawling up my arms and legs
And I don’t want to go home
It’s not where I belong, just so much
Of a bother, never get a word in
Edgewise or otherwise
They don’t know I am there anyway
Or at least don’t care what I say
especially when I am saying it
because there is more
important whistling and grinding
coming from somewhere else
like a flock of geese that fly out loud
beside a pair of pigeons
that never let their feet touch the ground
and melt their grandma’s heart.
But I am in the way or whatever
To be rushed home for,
To complain of missing intent
While fearful watching what to do
And simmering pots with tonight’s fare
May never seize a spark
For whatever reason promised
But never fulfilled.
Its not so bad, though as I figure out
the solace that I seek is not subject to asking
since breaking away is breaking up
the layers of ice, frigid but constant,
paved so thick and remembered over time,
the flexed muscles of commitment still
hold the ice against a stone and steel dam.
So do not weep for me, I sharpened
My own skates and pulled the laces tight,
And figured the difference between now
And then will be what it will be and I again
Will watch the water and chunks of ice
Flow under the bridge to spread out over the
Delta with only the gigantic machines of
Man and time to alter their stone carved path.