courier (9/2/09)

it was a rough morning.
I ruined my suede shoes
in cold September puddles
my cigarette fell apart in my mouth
and I had to fight off
horse jockeys in their cars.
I was spitting tobacco,
oilslick haircut
and a black eye.
my predictions, for worse
usually come to fruition.
when it gets too thick
I drift to the alleys
and cut my teeth
on a blue harmonica.
singing songs about trains
lovers leaving
arriving
usually late.
the smart decisions, well
they usually end up just as tough
no, I don’t want
to shake his hand
I don’t want to make nice
for my own sake
for your sake
tell me, did
you stop to think about it twice?
no,
I wouldn’t have either.
al green keeps singing on wax
those beautiful black souls,
give me credence to swoon.
no common beauty,
are we really the same?
smiles have become
synonymous
with the kind of life
you like to lead.
so one of us
must be doing it wrong.
surely,
it won’t last?
after all,
that was your excuse.