dummy

or, how to be.
How to leave the opaque with the barren,
the crushed with the underfoot, with the bruised.
Where I’m not sodden or shepherded or otherwise -herded
or obligated, or even trusted, too much.
Not antiquated, not pastoral, not in-vogue.
But like a fall god, an old and red and dignified and remote god.
Alien-cold and spore-spawn covered, covered with fine weeds.

It’s how I would like to be–like a field. Wounded,
but old enough to be reticent about it.
Muddy in a few places where the football team
has been practicing. Vomit, blood from an elbow.
With chalk all around that’s leaked in a fine dusting
from the spreader, the lines crisscrossing, the out-of-bounds zones.

But not so unified for you. Esp. by the chain-link
there’s a cut place where the strays and truants come.
It’s how they get through. It’s how you got through.

So you can stand and smoke with your back to the gymnasium
after the pep rally and see your breath puffing hard
and not feel ashamed about it.
That I won’t accept your ticket.