The Man In the Straight Jacket Whispered
The man in the straight jacket, whispered to me,
And said, “My eyes sleep in your dreams.
You dream of whipperwills and handbaskets,
Crafts and scones-dredged in silence, you seek of none.”
In my spare time, I walk to the grocery store,
Carrying a briefcase to put a case of eggs in,
And, talking to the cashier, I bring them back home
And fry them up in a frying pan.
Dusk creeps slowly around the edges of my living
Room, and ghosts speak to me, softly treading
Their footfalls on the linoleum. The light goes dim.
A storm is coming. Everything grows dim,
And it gets hot, and the hotness causes itching,
Growing quickly around my vision.
I wish I could escape. I have nowhere to go.
I don’t have any money to go to a cheap-ass motel,
I don’t have any money to purchase alcohol.
I want to escape.
Where would I go?
I wander in my mind, looking for solace. At last, I pull out
A book of poems and skim through it, words swim before my eyes.
Where does the loyalty lay? In your heart, in your head?
I want something to eat. My stomach growls. I feel starved,
Naked, dead. My eyes are dead.
I don’t understand anything but the aching in my stomach,
The pain in my heart. I wonder where you are on this hot,
So hot, night, and the birds call to me, lonely.