OOC: i know the first is a repeat, but i wanted the whole series on here so you could kind of... feel the flow? There may be more coming, but for now this is what I've got.
Thoroughly Modern
by Dee
1.
I dont miss you in sweeping waves
of anguish like the boys with cheap guitars
and dyed black hair that we ridiculed. I miss you minutely;
the minor changes in routine are mental splinters:
driving home after an eight-hour shift, aching
feet and fudge-smeared arms, I should
be calling you, rambling ridiculously and ending
with, Well, anyway, I love you. And Ive
been taking melatonin ever since the last
time the LCD flickered, Good night, beautiful.
2.
Youre chain-smoking out the window
of a car that isnt our Jeep anymore, but at least
its still white. Humming along to Fiona on the stereo,
I imagine, driving home from third shift and thinking
whatever employable poets think.
Myself, Im worried Ill end up floating
on my back in Antietam Lake, clutching bouquets
of dead flowers and singing myself to sleep.
3.
This time, I dont even make it
up the stairs. Knees hit the carpet,
and Cocoa is frantically pushing
her nose through my hair, trying
to lick the tears from my cheeks.
Digging my fingers into my shoulders,
I think of the envelopes you sent, pinned
to the wall above my pillow.
"If you don't care for obscenity, you don't care for the truth; if you don't care for the truth, watch how you vote. Send guys to war, they come home talking dirty."-Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried
Thoroughly Modern
by Dee
1.
I dont miss you in sweeping waves
of anguish like the boys with cheap guitars
and dyed black hair that we ridiculed. I miss you minutely;
the minor changes in routine are mental splinters:
driving home after an eight-hour shift, aching
feet and fudge-smeared arms, I should
be calling you, rambling ridiculously and ending
with, Well, anyway, I love you. And Ive
been taking melatonin ever since the last
time the LCD flickered, Good night, beautiful.
2.
Youre chain-smoking out the window
of a car that isnt our Jeep anymore, but at least
its still white. Humming along to Fiona on the stereo,
I imagine, driving home from third shift and thinking
whatever employable poets think.
Myself, Im worried Ill end up floating
on my back in Antietam Lake, clutching bouquets
of dead flowers and singing myself to sleep.
3.
This time, I dont even make it
up the stairs. Knees hit the carpet,
and Cocoa is frantically pushing
her nose through my hair, trying
to lick the tears from my cheeks.
Digging my fingers into my shoulders,
I think of the envelopes you sent, pinned
to the wall above my pillow.
"If you don't care for obscenity, you don't care for the truth; if you don't care for the truth, watch how you vote. Send guys to war, they come home talking dirty."-Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried
