poetry critical

online poetry workshop



tuesday
cactid

on tuesdays,
 1
i am sisyphus pushing hours instead of stones
 2
the softness of routine has yet to creep in and the
 3
harsh strands of weekend have not yet departed
 4
 
 
i spend the day under covers,
 5
coffee barely keeping body and soul together
 6
at night, my shadow falls upon itself again and again
 7
boy magnified to monolith against the night and neon,
 8
ears warm with sound, cars far away push against steady footsteps
 9
cheeks ruddy, no hat, gloves forgotten in pockets
 10
 
 
on a tuesday, my father and i go to the movies
 11
movies are half off so the theater is always crowded,
 12
crowded because everyone has the same idea that we do
 13
we do it anyway;
 14
 
 
fresh popcorn pairs perfectly with blood on screens, m&ms with love scenes
 15
by now, the ticket boy knows our names
 16
he shows us to seats that don’t squeak in less sticky aisles
 17
i imagine he hates tuesdays too,
 18
 
 
listen:
 19
ive been dumped only on tuesdays,
 20
tuesdays lack good primetime television,
 21
I have an 8 am on tuesdays,
 22
and there’s always a line at the waffle maker,
 23
 
 
and on tuesdays the slumber sinks further into my eyes,
 24
on tuesdays my head seems a little bit heavier and the static fills my ears
 25
on tuesdays, I want to be awake a little less,
 26
(every death i have almost completed has occurred on a tuesday)
 27
 
 
it occurred to me recently that i’m only really alive to see if infinity war is good or bad
 28
i have a feeling it will be bad
 29
my father and i will go to the half off show
 30
he will like it, i will be disappointed
 31
he will be able to tell that i am disappointed
 32
 
 
later I will think of the ticket boy,
 33
his eyes are heavy too
 34
I wonder if, like me, he does not go home,
 35
I wonder if he cannot bear to exist within four walls,  
 36
I wonder if his problems and mine are synonyms
 37
 
 
the same cold wind against us,
 38
two battered boys chasing our shadows
 39
cars still go but the footsteps stop
 40
lead brows raise and syrup eyes blink,
 41
 
 
clock screams:
 42
go home, it’s late, you’re drunk.
 43
tuck yourself into bed.
 44
get some rest.
 45

12 Feb 18


(define the words in this poem)
(1 more poem by this author)



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