The Designated Driver
(final draft)
The drunk sheep look up,
and are not fed.
Were so full of shit,
it hurts my head -
our poetry; high fallutin
personal ads.
Shoes on a wire mean
different things to
different people.
Last night, she blazed
a circle A beneath
the steeple.
There are no churches
in this town, except the
brown one by the grocer.
The priest, he rides his
bike to mass.
He wouldnt
if he could live closer.
The students holler
from one charming porch
to another.
Its hard to take things seriously,
in a neighborhood that has
no mothers.
Weve got 126K,
and some sneakers
on my van -
a pack of twenty-somethings
guiltless, riding
without plans.
She sits in back
in black jeans, like me,
except I insist on driving.
Shes not the most
engaging of the group,
and neither, of course, am I,
but tonight her face,
it was the focal point,
of a night of moving lines.
Her hips are every can
of pop I did not steal,
but paid for, fighting instinct,
from my pocket.
I hate white girls
with dreadlocks,
because I cannot
take them seriously.
Her eyes look up, un-fed
fed up, blue, disengaged,
and jaded.
She shifts, and in her taut
bodys elegance, she is
every woman I have
ever lusted for, and
every girl Ive ever hated.
Shes the last one Ill drop off.
I am the designated driver.
I know I'll sleep
with empty pockets,
even if I sleep beside her.
"Goodnight, I must be going.
I really should be going."
She lights a candle ten blocks back.
I park the rig,
and do some dishes.
Quietly, I cook a dinner of lamb
and boiled carrots,
and there is nothing
for dessert.
I stir it with a wooden
spoon to the rhythm of
whatever-that-is clacking
in the basement.
Tomorrow I will feed
the pigeons, and seek
meaningful employment
from the butcher or the baker,
but for now I eat in silence
as I list the ways I hate her.
I pour a bath and
wash the street
off my black jeans
and off my skin.
I cup the water
in my hands.
It rains and rains
and rains like sin.
Tomorrow, I seek
meaningful employment.
I cup the water
with my hands,
my belly full and
bobbing in the water.
The tub drains all the
water it has bled.
I am the last to go to bed.
I am the designated driver.
- JR
(final draft)
The drunk sheep look up,
and are not fed.
Were so full of shit,
it hurts my head -
our poetry; high fallutin
personal ads.
Shoes on a wire mean
different things to
different people.
Last night, she blazed
a circle A beneath
the steeple.
There are no churches
in this town, except the
brown one by the grocer.
The priest, he rides his
bike to mass.
He wouldnt
if he could live closer.
The students holler
from one charming porch
to another.
Its hard to take things seriously,
in a neighborhood that has
no mothers.
Weve got 126K,
and some sneakers
on my van -
a pack of twenty-somethings
guiltless, riding
without plans.
She sits in back
in black jeans, like me,
except I insist on driving.
Shes not the most
engaging of the group,
and neither, of course, am I,
but tonight her face,
it was the focal point,
of a night of moving lines.
Her hips are every can
of pop I did not steal,
but paid for, fighting instinct,
from my pocket.
I hate white girls
with dreadlocks,
because I cannot
take them seriously.
Her eyes look up, un-fed
fed up, blue, disengaged,
and jaded.
She shifts, and in her taut
bodys elegance, she is
every woman I have
ever lusted for, and
every girl Ive ever hated.
Shes the last one Ill drop off.
I am the designated driver.
I know I'll sleep
with empty pockets,
even if I sleep beside her.
"Goodnight, I must be going.
I really should be going."
She lights a candle ten blocks back.
I park the rig,
and do some dishes.
Quietly, I cook a dinner of lamb
and boiled carrots,
and there is nothing
for dessert.
I stir it with a wooden
spoon to the rhythm of
whatever-that-is clacking
in the basement.
Tomorrow I will feed
the pigeons, and seek
meaningful employment
from the butcher or the baker,
but for now I eat in silence
as I list the ways I hate her.
I pour a bath and
wash the street
off my black jeans
and off my skin.
I cup the water
in my hands.
It rains and rains
and rains like sin.
Tomorrow, I seek
meaningful employment.
I cup the water
with my hands,
my belly full and
bobbing in the water.
The tub drains all the
water it has bled.
I am the last to go to bed.
I am the designated driver.
- JR
grr. yeah, well oregon sucks. wish I was back there. much more fun. much better for me. it's just stale here. nothing to occupy myself with, and i start to go insane. drudge up old shit that keeps me in bed past 2.
i like your poerty. very narritive short short feel to it. i like. wouldn't mind reading more if you're ever board and want to send me some.
hope everything is going well over there.
due to my level of bordem here, i'll probably end up writing you because i am that much of a nerd.
brie