Wednesday, November 9, 2011

When you've lost your last friend

you may walk like you're drunk, but really your legs just don't care. Body sways to the left and then the right, "vrrrrrvrrrrrvrrrr" the sound of your thigh against the metal wire fence. A green playground bench I sat on, shivering, before taking the long walk home. I think about losing my last friend again. Wait. For a tiny moment I feel a little light. Like the times I visited the tiny beach by myself on a tiny part of Long Island when I was in high school. I was shackled for so long before then and this feeling was so tasty. I can be alone, by myself. By the water no less. Reading a book that temporarily heightens these delightful feelings even even more. I feel connected to the universe. Oooh, no! Don't step in that. I'm back on the sidewalk, swaying like a drunk, almost stepped in dog shit. This whole neighborhood is full of it. I saw the Sanitation Department man give a ticket to the owners of the pitbulls on my block two weeks ago. My block has been in the clear ever since. But it will change back. I take the opposite walking  route to the train now to avoid the dog shit on the other blocks. But its everywere, lurking, pretending to be symbolic.




photography by Dusdin Condren