Luck of Life
Just when we thought
summer was over
the concrete underfoot,
hisses with steam
while the cold turns to vapour and
the future hits the soles of my feet
at each step
I'm clad in sneakers
made mostly of holes
If it were raining,
my future would be wet.
Between the rush
and hum of traffic
I notice the songs of birds
lusting
after the window panes
and all this is hidden there.
Stretchy, frilly
and leather things.
Things that smell of death
and funerals.
The city is reflected.
Each of us are
double,
triple.
Seen in reverse
we glow,
and move forward.
The pavement click clacks
an airport people mover
under
pointy toed boots of
city workers
clad in black all year round,
rushing off for lunch.
---
In a public toilet stall there is a woman next to me
who hacks and coughs
and mutters to herself.
I make a list of library books to look for
and keep my bag close to my feet
even though I have no money.
'I'm sick, so sick' she says.
I look in the mirror with clean wet hands
and will myself not to grow old
----
I say yes when the surgeon asks if I'm nervous
and would I like something to calm myslef.
Laughing gas, they say.
I breath deep, the sweet smell of
clean plastic tubes
and wonder how they can remove a tooth
if I am laughing.
The bib on my chest,
the facemask,
hold me down.
Light-blue vinyl
grabs my skin
and pulls.
I think, soon I will have done this
instead of having not done this.
The surgeon tells me to breathe,
slow and deep, he says
without even a flicker of lust in his voice.
My lower lip grows numb,
then my tongue,
soon my face is hot.
I want to speak
but already have latex-covered fingers in my mouth
prodding cotton and needles into my gums.
I dive under swirling kelp
to feel the green slime cool against my skin
and squeeze the blubous seeds between my fingers.
I glare out through the wrinkled sea
at the white flag of the dentist's board
which reads
"the luck of life"
