Applying to Heavy Equipment School
I marched farther into the Great Plains
And refused to come out.
I threw up a few scaffolds of disinterest.
Around me in the fields, the hogs grunted
And lay on their sides.
You came with a little water and went away.
The glass is still on the table,
And the paper,
And the burned scaffolds.
You were bent over the sink, washing your stockings.
I came up behind you like the night sky behind the town.
You stood frowning at your knuckles
And did not speak.
At night I lie still, like Bolivia.
My furnaces turn blue.
My forests go dark.
You are a low range of hills, a Paraguay.
Now the clouds cover us both.
It is raining and the movie houses are open.
I cannot wait for fall parties.
The invitations have begun to roll in.
I used to think I loved summer parties
until they got this year so sweaty and sad,
the whole world away at the shore,
sunk in sweet and salt.
you were supposed to save us
from spring but everyone just slumped
into you, sad sacks
pulling the shade down on an afternoon
of a few too many rounds.
Well, I won’t have another.
I’ll have fall. The fall of parties
for no reason, of shivering rooftops,
scuffed boots, scarves with cigarette holes.
I’ll warm your house.
I’ll snort your mulling spices.
I’ll stay too late, I’ll go on a beer run,
I’ll do anything
to stay in your dimly lit rooms
scrubbed clean of all their pity.