a poem by Britt Luttrell

The Decision to Drive or Not

I alone am the cause of this
drought, and hatred's all that's left
on tap so that's what I'm drinking. I drink
and everything falls in my stomach, out of my
head to a place I can touch with my finger
but haven't.

A boy? Or a buoy
that eats through its chain, drifted out
to clubs and bars and reappeared, briefly,
to those who drown in seconds.
Misery has wrapped me up
like hands around my drink, and though this glass
is empty I'm still chewing on its ice.
Brothers? I'm sick of all my brothers,
my slivered sisters, who pack in here
like cigarettes
and sweat until they're small.

Knowing you means none of you
have any chance to matter, but here I am like something
you took pity on and fed. The neon lights
that make me think of quarantine are dimming,
but why? why is everyone
wrapped in plastic but me? Tonight,
all nights
are for finding home or trying, for sleeping
on the toe-prints you left
kissed above my dash.

Thank you, thank you
for getting me
here.

© by Britt Luttrell
 
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #22 ~ July 2012