My Father Hung High

My father hung high in the brilliant air. My mother faded as she listened…betting diamonds for dandelions. Considering my end in a crowded hallway, someone was swinging a bicycle chain as I stood there discussing pension plans, pictures of old age. No one ever died from thinking too much, but what a waste of a bicycle chain. The trees began to attack. The ambulance began to eat the crowd. We grew fat and we laughed. The sun started to sweat back, blister and scream. Sweet ache of survival. Enough muscle to keep the blood moving.

The man being interviewed expressed his regrets. Tall buildings amaze me and make me jealous. My hand is bigger than your largest building. Ants in my section. Time frightens us and this is why waiting rooms are filled with magazines of men and women having sex on top of other people. Fear of wasted time inspires paralysis, which is wasted time. A train track running through your living room is just enough to keep your head.