Hostage Negotiation in Negative-Land
 
Take the bus to Angry-ville,
don’t meet the eyes of the driver.
You’re simmering low
with a mind to add up all the hurts,
wear them like clown shoes
wobbling but not able to fall.
 
Sidestep the looks of pity and
contempt from the other passengers.
Put your change away –
 
This will not be a long visit,
no transfer needed,
get off before the end of the line.
 
Looking to rent but not to buy
this is a detour off-course we all take,
hopefully pass through quickly.
 
But some people live there, cannot
leave.  Some blink and nod,
flatly endure disappointment
after disappointment -
they hunker down and
pay their mortgage, settle in
to revel in their shortcomings.
 
Lives are unlived, each entitlement
a click of the abacus of unbending
furrows and frustration.  The men
blame their mothers, the mothers blame their
husbands and the unheard music sways
just a block away.
 
I am only a visitor here.
I change my clothes into curled up frequencies
of  radio waves and wave goodbye.  This
is the stop before the broken dam of dominoes
and targets topple, they
unwind and unwind, a flat
panorama of pattern, a flywheel
whipping toward fury, dividing
everyone capable of guiding you.
 
I am not one of those.
I cannot keep you here
or set you free.
You must choose.
 
Take the bus to Angry-ville.
Go by horseback to Negative-land.
Pursed and blissful in misery, eat the unripe
persimmons of thankless obstruction,
remain indebted to complaint.
 
Your loan has been called and your
house is imploding, what are
you going to do?
I can’t help you.