Boston
when I travel
people ask me what it’s like to be from Boston
well, I would describe it as
after working a twelve hour hard shift plus commute,
to trying to park your car for an hour
but the only spot available is a handicapped space
or a loading zone
or an entire block is blocked off for construction
then you see someone pulling out, but they’re really pulling in
then it’s valet
then it’s resident
then it’s too small
then it’s okay, but at 5 AM it isn’t anymore
then you see one
a real one
but that’s not one
but wait there’s one
but when you pull into it,
you don’t get happy
you just glare at it
cause everyone
and everything
is against you
The above poem Boston is from the book Biting Lightening, Bloody Mary available here and at interpunk.com.
