by Jeph Johnson


The plane crashes
waking me
from a Saturday afternoon slumber...



I must call my mother!


...for I am crying and sobbing


Tears and snot reservoirs
flood behind my nose
damning my will


I wonder if my breath
is still worth grasping for
as I dial


she is not home
but has a new cell phone


I jot the long distance number down


after three rings her voice
reassures me she's still there


"But mom, it was me who was in the crash!"


I thought I was alright
-even mad that I wasn't able to sue!
I laid in the airport on a stretcher
you came right away to snuggle
...comfort me in my pain...
and brought me a book called "MNO"


The older I get
the less I can do for myself
My nursery was spotless,
my bachelor pad
is like the set of
Saving Private Ryan
with sentiment
but without purpose


young attractive girls
rear their ugly heads
everywhere I go
(it used to be Jesus)


maybe someone can help
sort through compact discs,
pop culture and porn,
pictures and trinkets,
baseball cards and posters
and maybe someone can
even alphabetize my books
putting the one you gave me
from the dream
in the middle

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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