Post October Odyssey

I spend the first ten years of every life
just eating off the paper plates
you left for me.
They tear so easily and burn so hot
the fire spreads to everything.

The old beat up truck rolls backwards
down the hill again
and crushes all the prairie dogs
like lemons into lemonade.
I used to be afraid of faces
now I cannot live without them.
Never lie to me.

I feed fish heads to the local wolves
so gray in their complexion
they blend in with all the concrete
we spilled everywhere.

The pad lock on the key drawer
is the strongest that the locksmith
ever crafted in his many years
of taking people’s money for his metal.

The bird cage held skeletons
of dinosaurs no longer quite as giant
as those other ones museums
like to show off
to be kept alive in memory.

If you ask me I would rather just
forget those stupid lizards ever lived here
on the same land as this ballpark
where the beer is almost 18 bucks a bottle.

Who cares about the truth anyway?
I don’t believe a word they say.
The clouds are cracked
like windows on the empty houses
nobody could pay for.

She told me to wait up for her
in texts so steep I turned my phone to silent
so that I could sleep more peacefully.
It never rings again and I can’t wake
until I answer back. There isn’t much to say
except goodnight to all you ghosts out there,
and anyone who happens to be listening.

As the dream ends there is only rain
in the post October odyssey
of everything.