Unless Poem by Tom Courtney

I don’t know how it is
lying there on the sidewalk
emaciated, arms shriveled from intra-venous
inspected now as she is

I can only imagine how it feels
to sleep on asphalt
with newspapers for a blanket
cars roaring and screeching
unceasing echoes of night in the city

and quiet stealthy intruders
in the forms of insects and strangers
I never slept there. she did

I don’t know
it might have been
a lengthy custody dispute poorly contested
to lose my children because of
a vaguely misunderstood disorder
unable to manage my affairs
or alcoholism, physical abuse
laid over the mental torment

I really don’t know how it is
to stick a dirty needle underneath my skin
or how the vomit spills up my throat
as I crouch down in a corner

And voices pop and bop and jive and jostle
in another room, people I never knew
and only see for this evening

And I don’t know how it is
that the city clears the streets
of bacteria and humans
technicians jotting down notes
pealing off sanitary stickers
sending the multi-lighted vehicles
at hundreds of dollars a minute

Taking this dead woman now
into their business
after the last spittle has dried
on her lips and the scavengers stolen
her cheap rings

And the stench of urine
curls around my head
in the fluorescent gray-blue light
in the tunnel

I don’t know how it is
as I turn, crunching a pebble
into the concrete
under a hard leather heel
looking for my door handle
How could I?
I have only seen it
as tonight and the night before
and tomorrow

And it only hits me
when I’ve made my way through the maze of automobiles
and the rest of my daily routine
and returned to the splendid condominium
easing my shiny German car into the garage
hitting the transmitter button
and dropping my briefcase on the clothes dryer
loosening my tie and leafing through the mail
reclined upon the couch
how it is
to live without running water
or to lose the taste of food
because I eat coffee and cocaine

And I don’t know how it is
to sleep in a dream of angels
that melt, turn inside-out
and breathe fire under my skin
to see the blackness of the eternal void
open up with crystalline precision
and tell me it’s time for my next fix
and I have no money
but I have my body to sell
if I can’t panhandle or steal it

And I don’t know how it feels to look up
at the tanned and glistening faces
shooshing up and down the corridors
and know that I don’t belong
and lost so far
I really don’t belong to myself
it’s a mystery

And how she felt
in the tedium of that long day
that followed every night’s ride
on the tip of a steel syringe
soaring for a moment
far above the pain and compulsion
But I think that Julia did
or was it Nadia, or Marie?
there’s no identification
because she lived it

And knowing that that’s not quite living
living with the realization
looking at the failure that it’s all become
I really can’t say that I know
unless

Notes: “Unless” was published in an anthology of writings “The Black Whole” by Down in the Country Press. See http: //press.downinthecountry.com/theblackwhole.html. It is available at Amazon and other major booksellers.