Controlled Delusions

a poem

In the morning's context
there are a kind of goodbyes
that can fill one's intentions
a cup spilleth-ed over

the ladies in the Dunkin' drivethru
catch a kind of smile
that leads to better home lives
for the unemployed boyfriends

you find yourself
driving in the middle lane on the Pike
and letting all the overbearing pickups
drive 95 up the tailpipe of civil servants

and you change the station
to the oldies, and are happy to find
that the songs there
are the ones you sang in high school

these goodbyes are kept in a locket
a golden one that you save
in the deepest corner of your mind
for when you think of her again.

....

In the afternoon's context
there are terse exchanges
that can stop the momentum
of what was once a grand Friday

the guys in the breakroom
receive the kind of dead-eyed stare
that leads to negative reinforcement
of the silly thoughts of false male role models

you find yourself
clicking through minesweeper aimlessly
torturing yourself with the little explosions
and imagining yourself imploded

and you change the playlist
to the one that makes your left earbud
hiss a little, and the pain reminds you
that you have 4 hours left

these exchanges are kept in a pocket
in the negative spaces around your
abdomen, and eat away at the ulcer
that you pounds Tums for anyway.

....

In the evening's context
there are wary glances
that make one dread the conversations
and how long you must wait to tell

the one friend you have maintained
from the cobwebs of elementary school
that you both desperately rely on
to cover for the therapy you can't afford

you talk without direction about
sports teams you stopped believing in
when your little league coach
played his son in center over you

and you sit down to write poetry
with a soundtrack connected to moments
moments unconnected to anyone else
other than the you you want to be

these tellings are poured into verse
and you experience relief from the
sounds in your own head for a moment
until the words pile up again.