On the south shore, an overdose claims a life every eight days
– Massachusetts Department of Public Health, 2014
My palms so pale, palm to palm
to hide the tremble of veins
so blue with want.
A little maple behind my bench
holds leaves out to the sun
touched with red
where a single cricket insatiable
chirps its goddamned brains
out. I dream
of drowning, of women who smell of dog:
a few milliliters measure
and darksome shit I am desperate to ditch,
the endless tolling of funerals,
lost to vikes or oxy taking
a pain away, construction
fatal accidents; news reporters
somber as if the end
of days, I live
this, this time, this need, this hunger.
When I open the door,
my red pit terrier
races, his mouth stupid-happy,
the baby smiles. This park
so sweet, and quiet.
The want is a wound September sun
can’t warm, so deep, so who
is to say how to choose?
I bring my rig with me every day.
Image: “Alone man sits beside a pond in the park” by Artem Beliaikin, licensed under CC 2.0.
- My Name Was Jason - December 1, 2020