Tom Hatch- A Poem

A Cog in the Gear

The wheel house is on the line

Toasting the other cogs to be

Lube-jobbed-up juice on whisky breath

Rolling into the oil pan of life’s viscosity

A double on the rocks

Dripping into retreat or forward motion

Is the same as long as all the other

Cogs do their job not knowing any names

All the cogs I know are stiff

With a hard on but never

Getting to lay becoming horny rolling

Back down into the viscosity

Of oblivion I am a Mercedes

Or a maybe a Buick at 6:31 in the morning

Undulant down the double yellow lined

Asphalt road to the station getting

On the 6:51 sitting next to all the other cogs

Reading headlined newspapers, electronic

Devises plugged into their brains 

And sleeping the sun flickering in said

Nothing about anyone in the morning

Against yawns only slumping shadows of silhouettes  

Cast on the back of doldrums beige seats

Bio 

Tom paid his dues in the SoHo art scene way back when. He was awarded two NEA grants for sculpture back then. And taught at various colleges and universities in the NYC metro area in art (including Princeton and U of Penn. in Philly). He he is a regular at The Camel Saloon, Dead Snakes and BoySlut. He has published at The Mind[less] Muse, Jellyfish Whispers, Napalm and Novocain, Rusty Truck and Pyrokinection among others. He lives in CT with a few farms up and down the road works in Manhattan. His train ride to and from NYC is his solace, study and den where it all begins and ends.