5/19/2017 0 Comments Poetry by Tom DolanSurrounded I stood with the others Forty maybe, all In silence Stopped and watching As he screamed "Madre!" To no reply Just how many cops and Firemen seem to be required To get a completely un- Cooperative subject strapped Down to a gurney might Surprise you, but Think double-digits I was walking the dog Others on their way To work or the Metro A few paced back and Forth, overnight Street-sleepers and no Fans of the sheriffs They used towels, as No one wants to get bit Beach-sized maybe, in a Scramble that resembled The early-man-felling-a- Wooly-mammoth tableau At the Natural History Museum The quarry, eventually Exhausted, gives up the Struggle (as we all know) In the drama's last act Glassy-eyed Spittle flying Desperate, tragic For SG We pretended we hadn't slept together That evening when we met them for drinks Smiles and stories and our secret inside The café on Auguststrasse Your radar was likely much better A woman's always is Looking back now I'm sure they knew or She did anyway—or had her suspicions But it was he that was angry later which I (now) know I should have anticipated and Understood and empathized with But should doesn't matter sometimes I hadn't planned on wanting you And I didn't care whether you planned me or not Your hair fell just so over your shoulder Your language probably has a special word just for that A Jump That time you said you wanted To kill yourself, not that first Time when you took all those Pills and stumbled around Mario's loaded, but that other Time when you said you were Tired of the world, Everyone in it, and That your son would be “Just fine.” That time when Your roommate was sobbing After you stormed out and When we all desperately Started sending texts Trying to figure out where you Might be. Should we call the cops? You scared the shit out of everyone Just so you know: That time sucked. But, We all need inflection points And sometimes hard stops Are the best. In moments of Crisis we need someone To put jumper cables on us Pump the gas, turn the key. When we're spent, unmoving, Dead in the ditch, we need Help. It doesn't matter how we Got there. Getting out matters. A jolt. A push. A tow truck Maybe. And there's no shame In that. If you've never driven Off the road then you've never Really stepped on it hard. A few days and we'll get This thing running like a top. You’ll see. C'mon, let's go. Bio: Tom Dolan is an artist, musician, and writer who lives and works in Los Angeles. He exhibited artwork internationally and puts words to music with the LA post-punk group, Fourwaycross.
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