A POEM by BEN SHROCK
This Patch
I stand at the back in a trench coat
I stand at the front fully nude
Radio says to take a left
I swerve and my belly turns to gravel
It shakes like maracas being turned every so slightly
My ears evaporate from the rhythm and I watch through the sunroof as ear mist floats into the blue
Specks of orange earwax rain down and I try to catch it with my tongue
My neck will drive for a while
I stand at the back in a trench coat
I stand at the front fully nude
Peel me like garlic not like an onion
Chop off the ends and then roll me around forcefully on the counter until the skin can be
snatched off like the fedora of a bald man
I stand at the back bald and in a fedora
In a fedora and bald
I stand at the front of a queue to watch a live scoring of the only silent film I’ve ever seen
Im a 32 year old in purple glasses and some sort of scarf
I have a book open at the bar during a 15 minute break at a jazz show
Soon the foursome led by a man whose lone stud earring does not overshadow his boyish haircut
and his grey nike running shoes will play thelonious monk a name I happen to recognize
When they begin to play I will sit down and I’ll close my eyes and grin because I am enjoying the jazz music
I am there with no one but everyone is there with me I think
That night in bed I will start to read my book and need to go back a few pages to remind myself
what has been happening
When I get back to where I started I will decide im too tired to read and go to sleep
My neck is still driving the taxi
It has been driving for so long it has taken a name
Ariadne
She longs to see the world
We’re driving to Montreal now
She’ll do some French duolingo along the way
Sooner or later we will have a falling-out and she’ll cut me off
I a head rolling on the asphalt
Soon to be either crushed like a watermelon dyed fuchsia with food coloring
Or lodged stuck in the sewer grate where
Various liquids will slowly seep into me from the street over time
until I turn a bloated grayish purple which will bring out the green in my eyes
But my eyes aren’t green they’re hazel
I stand at the back
You stand there with me
I brought you here
I did this
Ben Shrock (he/him) is a writer of sorts living in Los Angeles, CA. He aspires to one day be a website.