A Night in the Suburbs

Looking at the passing bullet train

I imagine myself as a homeless woodcarver

who owns a mighty stallion named Hunter

he’s old, but I’m now riding on his back anyway

 

Cruising the blank pages of starless night

I see nothing but satisfying city lights

Might invite them for dinner tomorrow night

 

I turn my portable radio on

I hear nothing but static and distorted chatters

that sound like possessed aliens

singing along to Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer”

 

My 50-year-old jukebox...where in another world is it?

Great, I lost it for the fourth time

 

As I ride further into the intersection

and wave my middle finger to some money-wasting leprechauns

a strange-looking Japanese woman kicks my back gently

forcing me to wake up

 

“Got a light, sensei?”

 

I had, until you pulled me away

from the peace I haven’t touched in years

 

I wear my jacket, put my glasses back on

and continue my unfinished journey without Hunter