Battling a Chain Link Fence in August
She called me two overly hot days ago
Left me a message on my cell in melting palms
Honestly I didn’t want to speak to her
She left me another message on my sweaty phone
Yesterday. "Thanks for calling me back" (steamy sarcasm)
"Why didn’t you call me back"? (Sheepish melted chocolate bars)
She got me on a third call this morning blistering finger tips
"I didn’t get any messages from you, what day was it" I said (dead hot deceit) perspiration dripping from my nose
"Two days ago and yesterday" she said coolly
"Thursday or smothering Friday my battery went dead"
"I called you on Friday"
"Yes, yes it was fiery Friday" (fiery lie)
Silence! A siren passes out the window chasing
A victim of heat prostration
I was sweating a round of ammo think like an old gatling gun
"Then I got into an accident with a chain link fence
It chased me into a steeplechase
And managed to get too close
Then it was in front of me so I hit it
It held me down on the ground for two sizzling days
So I couldn't even have called you
Even if my battery hadn't died anyway" (blazing overkill)
I panicked watered down blood
She never called me again
Which was fine with me
The temperature dropped a little.
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 feels is a regular at The Camel Saloon and BoySlut. He has published at The Mind[less] Muse, Jellyfish Whispers, Napalm and Novocain, Dead Snakes, Rusty Truck and Pyrokinection among others. He has recently had a poem nominated for The Best on The Net. 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.