Overtime

I am here for the glare off city windows
on my walk home from where I’m working now
where fenced in gardens grow straight through
the blacktop, always proving wrong the great ones.
I want to be fake like the people
wearing costumes holding signs
for deals at stores just days from closing.
Abandoned pocket knives redirect rays
from between blades of grass
left somewhere in the park,
after an apple peel and slowly dulling steel.
Take apart the model plane
and try to get a high off all the drying glue
you never knew was toxic.
Drop file cabinets full of action figures
off the roof of your apartment building
just to see the kind of scene it could provide for you.
The noise is what brings the crowd together,
and with any luck they’ll start to sift through
all the shattered plastic limbs and metal bent
inside itself impossible to open anymore.
So many people now believe there never was
a core to anything around us just this radiance
that spreads out far from nothing in the same way
all these local bands just play something
when there aren’t any notes.
While all the graduates take tickets
for the coats.
I know you have club soda back there
says the local bum to the clerk
stuck at his station when he shouldn’t
even be there, but he doesn’t care
about why everyone’s complaining, no,
he is more concerned with everything
they hide.