Tag Archive: poetry

I have mcnothing to say

i have

I have McNothing to say
As I swipe my glance
The way that a cashier does
My debit/bank/atm card-
Careless are the way we are
In our routines.

He or she would have seen that my
Card says (CID) meaning-
“See identification.”
But he or she can barely recall
My skin color much less my name.
I am not as upset (as I’d to be.)

Today, I rode in a semi-empty
subway car- there were exactly, 8
Blonds, 7 hispanics, 9 including myself
Blacks, 6 asians, 5 people i couldn’t ascertain
Race and exactly only 1 nice person- me, myself
And I who said a friendly word to myself,

We all interfaced with each other but we dont talk.
In line at mcdonalds is an opportunity to be open
And unjudged because we all came to this
Moment for something.
The cashier did not smile.
i did not say anything to any one that isnt just

Trying to service me today,


Distractions (WIP)


(Thoughts I use to distract myself include/
but are not limited to)

How come most don’t question why
the highs range from the lower
40’s to the upper 50’s even though
the month is January,
and we haven’t seen the hint of snow.

Quiz myself on what that celebrity that can’t act/
or/ sing was wearing
with at the Oscar, Grammy’s and how
Jimmy Kimmel agreed with me on their/

I create a few jokes about happy hour/ being the/
happiest hour/ because like a decent date/
There’s more bang for the buck/ There’s witty banter
that could lead to more/and you don’t mind that
the hour isn’t exactly an hour/ and you realize
there goes that bang for the buck thing/ but
at least you were able to smile.

(Trying not to think about that
my brother is…(gone) my job is… (gone)/
or that meaningful interactions with cohorts/
discussing potential strategies
to shape the future are missed..(and missing)

So i think about freedom, and the police.
I set my Ipod to shuffle/and
shuffle outside.  I spend maybe/ a black/or
two trying to determine/ whether my baseball cap
should be backwards.  

And after I reach/ a subway station and at
a predestined location/that I’ve not determined/
(but most likely a bar)- There I decide (as much
as I can decide) that maybe I didn’t want to wear
a baseball cap.

On the way home/ I check my phone and notice
not a miss call/ and then I notice everything that/
I’ve tried pushing aside/ And in a phone booth
smelling of piss/ I mourn the things I treated
with irreverence.

I mourn my brother/ Even thought I know where
to find him- He is gone.
I remember my job/Every day I spent frustrated
because of the level of engagement/ It was
my spouse/ This separation is one side.
And I think about the future/ and cohorts,
and changing the world/ but I can’t stop
laughing at the irony that I want the world to
/just be what is was.

Any given day/ I want yesterday/ or the day
I yearn to be a virgin to my current pain/
Even though I recognize pain I feel now
is I’ve dealt with before.

At 3:11 am/ I lift my head out of my hands/
I wipe my eyes and then I laugh at myself
a little (because I’d rather not cry.)
The realization I’ve tried not seeing/ by
distractions and drinks-

It’s always 3:11 am in my life/ I’m always
preparing for the bartender’s last call.
I’m always at the last before the last-
This is how I’ve learned to make it.
Perculiar how nothing is ever over,
even when it’s over.  

Memory is/ a ghost as patient as it is rude/
It is a totality that has driven me….(insane?
sane? to tears?  to laughter? to my knees?)
Fear of it is/ is utterly ridiculous,
and thus I enter at 3:20 am-
to see how many new memories I can
find to distract myself.

Working Notes – I didn’t mean to set out and write poetry or write anything today.  But things on my mind and such.  I’ve tried to pay attention to stanza length, actually the overall length of it.  But I couldn;t figure out where to stop.

The ending needs work. I know what I want the image to look like, and Ive been trying to end things on a positive note when writing things lately but, I don’t know if with something as precarious as I’ve tried writing around that I can.  Sometimes things are just too heavy to gloss over.  
But overall, I hope that the idea that when it’s over, it’s not ever really over comes through.
-Chester Kent