Ryan's Poem (Hobo Lunchboxes)
by the time i left, i was already gone;
out into the murderous humdrum of run down, thumbs up, subs-not-hoagies hub city,
where the owners of near-by stores and cafes leaned on the local academia
like some sort of injured track star on crutches
it was darker than i thought it should be
and i was suspicious of the sky;
How many of those stars were planes?
so deviously lit, as to trick us backyard astronomers?
back on earth groups of culturally confused vagabonds now owned the streets-
roving bands of vigilante justice
complete with their oversized jackets and hobo lunchboxes
secretly pleased that the day long reign of the zombies had ended;
that those who slaved for the coffee flavored world order
now sleept in their beds
content with dreaming up tomorrow's campiegns and attacks.
i walked into a mom and pop, pop and mohammed pizza shop
and ordered a slice
no ----two slices
of the object of my quest,
carefully inspecting the bubbling cheese;
oozing and pulsing like a microwaved face surgery
gone terribly, terribly wrong.
i engaged two deviants, collars popped, egos inflated
in conversation hopelessly beyond any of us
and out of me they painfully drew
like the last drops of water from an already rung rag
a spirited "go back to princeton warmthless thugs!"
as i dashed out the door.
i hurried home, the snow (when did it snow?) flowing and sparkling
a frosty beach of blue fire, black gems and white sand.
to the guard at the door i faithfully produced the password
Fourteen! Two! Thirtyfive!
and within minutes found myself in my bed
the events of the night leaving me both to excited to sleep
but too exhausted to move.
out into the murderous humdrum of run down, thumbs up, subs-not-hoagies hub city,
where the owners of near-by stores and cafes leaned on the local academia
like some sort of injured track star on crutches
it was darker than i thought it should be
and i was suspicious of the sky;
How many of those stars were planes?
so deviously lit, as to trick us backyard astronomers?
back on earth groups of culturally confused vagabonds now owned the streets-
roving bands of vigilante justice
complete with their oversized jackets and hobo lunchboxes
secretly pleased that the day long reign of the zombies had ended;
that those who slaved for the coffee flavored world order
now sleept in their beds
content with dreaming up tomorrow's campiegns and attacks.
i walked into a mom and pop, pop and mohammed pizza shop
and ordered a slice
no ----two slices
of the object of my quest,
carefully inspecting the bubbling cheese;
oozing and pulsing like a microwaved face surgery
gone terribly, terribly wrong.
i engaged two deviants, collars popped, egos inflated
in conversation hopelessly beyond any of us
and out of me they painfully drew
like the last drops of water from an already rung rag
a spirited "go back to princeton warmthless thugs!"
as i dashed out the door.
i hurried home, the snow (when did it snow?) flowing and sparkling
a frosty beach of blue fire, black gems and white sand.
to the guard at the door i faithfully produced the password
Fourteen! Two! Thirtyfive!
and within minutes found myself in my bed
the events of the night leaving me both to excited to sleep
but too exhausted to move.