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Ways

Ways

people get stuck

in the ways

in the passenger seat

the front row

the bedding

the cell

the shoes

the grave

the height of pleasure

brewed and burned

that full feeling

nuked and trashed

the depth of denial

coursing through

the weathervane

‘cause you go to work

and do your job

and pay your bills

and sign your name

and give a dime

and sit in church

and laugh on cue

and go to that thing

and hold that door

and nod your head

and throw that ball

and light that wick

and cook that meal

and run that race

and net that fish

and cut the grass

and sift the sand

and bring the flowers

and walk the dog

and bake the cake

and paint the fence

and nail the roof

and bang the drums

and clear the clutter

and save the book

and take the train

and turn the blind

and lift the cup

and light the stick

and shoot it up

and make a mess

and fix your face

and set the timer

and straighten your tie

and wave goodbye

and board the plane

and close your eyes

and walk the aisle

and sit in that chair

and say you’ll be back

and fall off the cliff

and get hit by the bus

and blown away on the plane

and shot by a stranger

and run over by bulls

and sunk by a ship

and taken hostage

and beheaded

and left for dead

boxed or burned

on the return

go stand in the mirror

under the sting

and wipe the film

make like you see

whatever works

TL

Published inTamiko Lowery