poem of the day 03.11.11

friendly fire?

it’s getting
as though i can’t
even sit in this bathroom
read or think
in this cramped
brooklyn shit stall
with its one pipe hissing
suffocating the air
pushing out
the sick sweat
through my pores
the scotch
the wine
the old milwaukee beer
that my wife
laughed about
but drank anyway
you cannot sit
and read the newspaper
with the car alarms
and conversation
sullying the landscape
the birds chirping
their miserable spring songs
the neighbor’s bed springs bouncing
no, there is nowhere safe
you cannot even sit here
without thinking
about love and death
war and peace
where the next apocalyptic volley
is coming from
the middle east?
the television?
a smile
a dog bark
the old woman
in the grocery line
harassing a tired old drunk
or rhapsody in blue
bantering out of the morning radio
with the sun blazing
too early in the sky
again and again