Arriving At An Age Poem by RIC BASTASA

when one does not recognize
anymore: is this night or day?

the 24th of May or the
1st day of July

when the sound of the rain
feels like a whirling electric fan
in a cheap motel

when the sea breeze feels like
another useless trip away from home

when every place looks like the same
like a road stretching far away from your car

one day on a glaring light
and you feel like you are arriving at nowhere

and yet you cannot say the word
'shit! '