Flamenco on the Radio

unjust temporality stops me when i try to breathe the scenery

with a sugary sincerity I'm back to my to do list after this stop and frisk

but by the time the light is off the sun is bryter later than it was just then

and that wistful brown-eyed daughter just behind her failing father

disappears from me

nothing to see blame temporality

she says daughters are just potters hoping someone stops

and takes the time to look around

but young male window shoppers always break pots

in her sweet shop and walk away

so she's working from home now taking photos

and uploading her wares online

seeking sublimation and some odd choice incantations in estate sale lines

if i lay myself to sleep

will life catch up to me

i'm waiting outside the house

i'm in my parent's grey van

flamenco on the radio

will i die alive

and the man with white hairless legs from countless years

in pants with pleats and button flies

stands idly by the boys on the court wasting their sweat

between the service lines

oncology herbal teas and hidden knee injuries they keep him up at times

then shove him down the escalator tear his sweaters

turn back and yell see you later

he says family is mutual responsibility shaped by habit

he says money only makes you happy only if you lack it

and pleasantries and kindly deeds are more for me

than any fool that believes me when i say that

so please my daughter don't i ever catch you saying that

maybe he thinks

if i lay myself to sleep

will life catch up to me

i'm waiting outside the house

i'm in my parent's grey van

flamenco on the radio

sweat in the stitching of the steering wheel

fingers in the window fog

will i die alive

and right now underground i'm sure a couple dozen boys discover suicide

they laugh and cry and lie there hoping that they're not

the last ones left alive tonight

with teenage glows and menstrual woes they'll stumble up and out the pit of adolescent life

wake up the next day still high

hung out to dry like cowhide on the low tide of sunrise

braced to find whatever's left to find what their mothers left behind

if i lay myself to sleep

will life catch up to me

i'm waiting outside the house

i'm in my parent's grey van

flamenco on the radio

sweat in the stitching of the steering wheel

fingers in the window fog

seats they're all bowing down behind me

spent rubber in the fast food cup

will i die alive