he slid out of you, he cried and just kept on crying.
It only sounds like he stops when the trucks pass by,
Their motors drown out everything until the stoplight
I suggest you stay on the crosswalk and ignore the cars
waiting to turn.
Backseats cradle groceries and paint jobs reflect the
sun, killing all shadows.
When you get back onto the sidewalk you can sense
The eyes behind the sunglasses, the steering wheels turning.
A new pair of sneakers are like a new set of wheels
They will get you from bench to bench
Where old men in plaid button-ups and tweed blazers share
bottles of water
And you’d accept were it not that you can taste
their lips on the rims.
The heat makes an impromptu fog we all move through,
All the stores are open but all the stores sell things,
you’d have to keep on buying things to quiet him
Put him under the faucet to cool him off
And his cries will turn to laughter,
the boys passing by in basketball jerseys will look at
Waiting for rain to come to wash away their blood.
His laughter will continue until the trucks outside
Stop at the light again and destroy the world with their
Mowing down any thoughts you may have planted
Any dreams you may have planted
Hoping they would grow into a future.
After the trucks leave he will be crying again,
And his tears will evaporate into the sky
Unless you catch them and keep them
Mistaken for sweat as a
Second shiny coating
To your skin.
Chris Bullock was born and raised in
Riverhead and Hampton Bays, on the East End of Long
Island, NY. After a disastrous attempt at studying abroad
in France, he moved to Colorado with his band. He now
resides in Manitou Springs, performing at concerts and
exhibiting his artwork.