You Can't Hang Up On Your Self

They comment on how it's just about
all gone grey
since the time they saw you last,
and you're a little sick over the slippage
of time, of life, all the thrashing you've done
just to keep a nostril above the waves,
to get almost nowhere.

The fact that you still aren't convinced
that there was anywhere to go in the first place
gags you, knowing better now...
well, suspecting better.


What are you waiting for? go!
what?
where?

And you're left sitting with that feeling
wringing the steering wheel, revving the engine,
shift lever cemented
in Park.

That demented French kid said,
everything here is shame and reproach,
and you wanted to hit him back with something,
but