go outside

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
sidewalk desperation

Submitted: May 22, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 22, 2013




looking outside,

there are no jobs.

little thrives

in such a lack of earth.

ground steadily given way to winter potholes,

now the sturdiest feature of the streets,

black, natural beds

sheeted by sand, salt,

strewn glass and eventually

half-filling with every excess

the filthy, transient season loosed on the public.

if only they were drains.

anything to renovate this formless paradise of mushy rock and grey water.

still i must insist there are no jobs. absolutely nothing to do.

nothing to do with anything

hands tied. those street lights don't light anymore.

and they never will again. pick up your feet

when you walk

craggy and lightless miles.

city trees

i would just rather ignore altogether

their subterranean fingers

pressing up against my soles

and their bodies contorted in

a picturesque torture.

sunny days don't come by miracle.

no, i don't believe there were leaves

by this time last year.



there is no enemy entitled to us

not a god to divide us


you are right to be frightened of everyone.

this is a war of personal interference.

the way we've commixed,

strange clothes brushing by,

an odd-colored hair stuck to your your sleeve.

spending this much time elbow to elbow

bad hygiene

is not accidental.

no one is above barbarism,

above screaming sporadically at himself

to victimize walkers-by.

i am learning new languages.


i think it's good we're all together at once

that no one paces alone



out, out

with these dense

residual breaths

that roll

around in the lungs

like shelled peas!

out with luke-warm perspiration!

i don't recall it,

but i must also have given away my vision


let's be rid of that as well.

i don't care that this is the sidewalk,

about the wet,

the scum

or the crowd.

i need to lie down.

© Copyright 2020 Caroline Michaud. All rights reserved.

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