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This writing was accepted for publication
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cc&d (v243) (the May / June 2013 Issue,
the 20 year anniversary issue)


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Poet as Sociopath

Eric S.

I enter the train thirsty
Observe, assess, hunt, capture
There is a man sitting across from me wearing a panda suit
It is a classic onesy. He has a white furry hood with two black ears
He is sitting and staring out the window as Milwaukee Ave. zips by at 25 miles per hour
He is a relaxed panda

He is wearing sunglasses even though it’s nightÉ
He is the coolest panda on the train,
though he is not mine yet.
But wait...
He is black and white. The colors occupy different spaces. It is Halloween so he both stands out and assimilates.

I own him now. I have kidnapped him. He belongs to me.
He is my metaphor.

The train is rife with metaphors
How lucky am I to be surrounded these figurative things every morning and every evening?

Why just look at this metaphor sitting across from me and her three metaphor children.
She has hands.
Her children are young happy tired small.
Her hands are weathered but dexterous like É struggle.
I know so much about her from her hands.
She is nothing but hands, and those hands now belong to me.
Her children are . . . the future.
One sits calmly, moving forward with a slight grin like the quiet optimism of destiny.

The others jitter with a jubilant anxiety like they want nothing more than to make social change by becoming my metaphor.
How lucky they are to be my symbols.
Now, they can never age.

And then there’s that metaphor standing next to me with a briefcase and perfect posture.
What a douchebag,
Attuned only to his phone like he has nothing to be aware of.
He touches buttons —
Trading insider stocks and
Launching missiles.
I do not like this metaphor.
He lives in the well of my page, puts the lotion on the skin.
He is ugly and capitalism and nothingness.

I am alone on this train.
I am surrounded by metaphors and things.
I know them.
I know them because I watch them.
I watch these people.
I am a people watcher.
I know these things around me because I kidnap their selves with my page.
They are capitalism and empowerment and altruism and hope.
I am a subject.
They are like and as the things I tie them to.
They stay in my well,
Rub lotion on the skin
Until I bring them to the light
And decide what they mean.



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