Clear Water
Raud A. Kennedy
Below, a truck sweeps the street.
Soap washes my clothes, my body.
I clean incessantly while my mind
Struggles in the daily slop of ads.
Buy this, buy that, feel good, feel bad.
I can’t sleep unless the radio is on.
I’m an addict who can’t be alone
In the dark or the light.
I need what they’re selling,
Want to be what they’re selling.
I hate who I am. No glistening white teeth,
No confident smile, nor glistening hair,
Or six pack abs and odorless armpits.
I’m an ape, the human ape.
I pick my feet in the morning,
Urinate, defecate, scratch hidden parts
And release any number of gasses
From all my orifices.
The only skin cells
On the radio and television
Are mine, and they’re dead,
And no matter what they sell,
I live in a body that isn’t made up of
Pinprick dots of light, or happy jingles
About the blue water in my toilet.
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