sitting in my seat

all I do is think

saving every breath

counting every blink

thinking fashionably about death

I watch their eyes begin to wander

up and down each others’ bodies

I close

stick a hand into my thoracic cavity

and pretend it’s a clock to wind

backward through time

like they do in magazines

and in front of well lighted storefronts

and downtown mini malls across America.

any beauty column will tell you the tricks

and what you have to trade,

every weight has a balance

and every product has a price.

hands in your pockets

chin in the air

eyes on the pavement—

almost there,

almost there

button your buttons

string your shoes

"I think I can,

I think I can”

you can’t, of course,

but the emptiness of cleared out commercial blocks

and brown brick buildings

and wide streets that are empty in the night

they all call out

antagonizing you with imposing angles

narrowing density

constricting construction

walk away from it all

hide your naked figure alone and cold in the crippling dark