today

watched a needle go in my arm, blood
spinning sideways beside my head

sputtered along the expressway, car at high rpm's,
i can hear the gas dripping away

two cups of coffee at work. maybe two cups too many.
i get fidgety, carelessly knocking into things
with my battery-powered pallet tank

driving home in the middle of the night, the
blinking yellow lights of the beltline like a runway
shrinking into the faraway night

fished through a dumpster, pushing aside
paper plates and
empty laundry bottles, oh here's a paper bakery bag, stuffed with french bread
into the backseat you go! and now i wonder
if that other loaf i saw is worth going back for.
i leave it, driving the cold car back into the quiet darkness

and yes i detest my writing sometimes i'm sure you do too
and yes it's true
sometimes i just want someone to tuck me into bed for once
and sometimes i still want to be told when to go to sleep
and when to wake up
and that i'm home