ONE DAY THE SIRENS WILL BE FOR ME

Cold & dark
I make my entrance.
Emerging from the waters
of sleep. I know
it's Sunday because
it feels like Sunday:
still & God like.
I'm getting ready
to go to work
in the Bronx
where I'll bullshit
about myself
& writing
to former jailbirds.
After a few steps
my legs start to work--
I put up my coffee;
brush my tooth;
take my shower;
pour my cup;
bring it to my desk;
open my Mac; & read
my paper.
It strikes me
how I really believe
that everything is mine
with a foolish exuberance...
then I hear the sirens...
they rip & claw & tear
Christ from the cross--
somebody else
is in trouble:
slipped
in the shower,
heart blew up,
lover blew up,
wires got crossed,
nerves gave out.
One day
it will be me
they'll come for.
I could have been
scrambling eggs
or remembering you
or chasing the butterflys
in my wallpaper...
they'll have to blow-up
the paranoid lock
on my front door
and wade through a confusion
that makes sense only to me--
the way it should.
They will try to get a beat;
they will try to figure out
why they're there & why I'm there;
they'll see if this sad piece of meat
is bleeding & how best to get me
down the slender slope of stairs.
Where I'll be
I don't know.
It's better
that way.

Norman Savage
Greewnich Village, 2018