i stood
staring in disbelief
at the sign
proudly proclaiming
city of mesquite
tourism board
i felt the wry chuckle
worm its way
up my parched throat
to the displeasure
of the kind gentleman
taking me to
repair their
broken letter opener
‘who in the hell
would willingly
come to mesquite?”
he didn’t answer
and i fear i will
never truly know
who was so excited
to visit the broken down
open sore cupping
the taint of the city
an urban wasteland
just patiently waiting
for the undead
and i saw a few
shamblers stumbling
down the sidewalks
on my drive here

i hate this job
it is encoded
deep into the chimp part
of my gelatinous brain
to despise
being forced into
a routine
of someone else’s
choosing
one of my many
charming character flaws
the pigheaded refusal
to do exactly
as i am told

i get to drive
and see the city
talk to weirdly friendly
ladies in offices
on the fiftieth floor
in downtown dallas
and in the slums
of mesquite
maybe i see a side
of the metroplex
that gets glossed over
in drone footage
and sterlized newscasts
but i feel the filth
cling to my skin
as i dodge potholes
and lost semi drivers
you don’t know a place
until you’ve picked
the scabs a little
gotten the grime
on your hands
as the sun beats down
and everyone eyes
each other suspiciously
fixing broken machines
on an endless loop
knowing i am nothing more
than entropy’s bitch
chasing the same buzz
that never hits the same

a sad nothing
lost on the backroads
muttering poems
lost in the madness
going where he is told
not where he wishes
a daydream short
of anything