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