Walking at 3 a.m.

1.
fussing with myself
clothes, hair
those inner arguments
“looks good enough,
I’ve looked better.”
belt straight
smell shirt, shrug
an estimable laundry day
this week
mental notes
leering at self
nose length from mirror
over sink
check skin
eyes
make a silly face
it’s all a joke
“shut up, you’re beautiful.”

at the door
it’s raining, more drizzling
than raining
not that I mind problematic
idiosyncracies
will have been for nothing
should the weather turn

I stood
on balcony
straightening jacket buttons
in boots, scarf
grimacing
at the lot of it

,decided it best
to proceed;
carefully
if I must

avoid galloping strides, should
ardent gust bemuse
fragile self-opinion

2.
the short road
fell between heavy shrouds
of shadow
with a piercing lamp-
light at its far end.

boulevards ran thick with trees
that canopied the whole
with fat spring-grown green
“seems sturdy enough.”

the raindrops
while heavier; fall
with a greater spread between

as I imagine the drizzle collected
in faunal pools and rivulets
along leaf veins and spines
slaloming
through
as gravity will allow

until the wind gets up
and at it
a violent flurry
assailing
lonely foot traveller
on the muddy track below

hood raised
for what little good allow,
as drenched as I
now am.
frustrated mess

3.
at long last
turn
towards the glare of
convenience outlet
24 hour flourescent lights
fall dim on wet
yellow parking lot
gasoline
puddles

green dumpster concealed
behind midnight roof shadow
back alley
litter
“the whole wretch of it,
seethes..”

neon walk lamp signals
solitary splatter echo
down vacant
dead avenues
quiet
humming
machinery

4.
rectangle beam splits
open from center
to the sides
hot glare

bright
product stocked shelves
commercial adverts on
the P.A.
antibacterial
smell of scrubbed corner filth

noticing immediately
the female employee
wearing franchise logo
smock/ visor
blissfully
unaware

the thin cord
of her headphones

the familiar radio bump
and rhythm
hips, move spine
back

shock of white hair
curl loose ponytail tied
angelic peroxide
nymph
dancing with broom
sings me a slow
pacing
“hello”

a high/low
HEL-lo
long and low, pink tongue
green eyes
glow of detached
appetite for casual sex

panties down in the bathroom stall
control fetish
she wants me
to smell it on her.
why else,
the charade of dying?

why else the practice
learning how to please
soulful
adapting to survival

re-initiating manifest conflict
to learn
again
until memory
irreparably penetrated?

returned a gesture
recognition, I
half-turned a nod
grim smile
moving toward the cooler
surveying
the sandwich counter
to my left.

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.

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