Each morning same story.
Wake up. Cock an eye at the clock.
Panic, then realise its not late at all,
Open eyes, panic! It’s late!
Rush, rush, brush, flush.
Pack laptop, pop tap locks, take helmet
and bike past fellows well met
but who I don’t like,
out the door and into the street.
Automatic doors slide aside and introduce you to the heat.
H E A T.
Murder by degrees as one rides,
alert and watchful with eagle eyes
and bat ears to hear the shush
the whispered breath
of approaching death
in the form of a mom
and Huey, Dewey and Louie
in a big fuckoff SUV
keeping cool on the way to school.
Sandwiches and traffic jams
well behaved commuters mutter into cellphones that flip
and clack back with a whack.
Fast talking radio show hosts
honor the ghosts
of the dead in Iraq.
Bluetooths blip plaints and curses through thin air,
the vapour pulses with despair.
A woman walks across the parking lot.
She is black.
Off the road and cutting short
through the parking lot
of the Nassau Coliseum (sic).
Acres of tarmac with the odd car parked,
the arena with names not its own
(but not on loan)
shimmers in a grey and white-lined bleak heat.
Fast cars blur the final curve,
the glass and steel mousewheel towers above.
Cool elevators serve rides and propaganda,
dinging the floors to the top.
Below, the freeway races non-stop,
like bubbles in a pipe.
Inside the blue light nothing seems right.
I wish I could disappear, drop out of sight
and just be by your side.
And thats just how it starts, my day.