KEN PEN
Here once more is that
damned address that gets
everything wrong. I awake
again too early to get moving,
and the lamp is on in the alcove
nearby - that same lady who
leaves it on always I'm sure. These
are the people one gets to live with,
and there's just not much choice.
-
Brain matter like old bread : I watch
her as she waddles. Down three steps
of concrete, and then over one. She
stoops to pick up her paper, and starts
talking to cats. Good God not again.
-
There's a truck garage two yards over.
A few men stand around, always making
noise; cigarettes, jokes, and contortions.
Thy tire me out. They make me ill. The
long metal gates slams while they banter.
-
I want to go home, but then realize I've
already done that and made that selection.
Where's replay? Let me make a correction.
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