You Ever Wonder How the Fuck It Came to This?

The man who nearly hit me
in the drive thru at McDonald’s
had a dreamcatcher
hanging from his rearview.
A fellow traveler,
I said to myself, and turned
my chainsaw upon my heart.
You don’t have to tell me.
I’m like anyone else: a snowflake
landing upon the shoulder of a statue
crying blood.
Wise women once advised
don’t go chasing waterfalls.
Let’s add to that, don’t be distracted
on your backyard yellow tarp waterslide.
Don’t be in such a hurry to consume
that you forget what matters,
so you go through life calling yourself
a foreboding cloud when you are
cotton glued to a paper plate.
I remind myself when I can
be bothered to remember how
everyone was so kind to me
in the Roanoke, Virginia mall,
when I wore my black suit
for an interview to be a photographer.
We were all interviewed as one
then subjected to examination,
to treat a stuffed monkey as a child
to be photographed with invisible cameras.
You ever wonder how the fuck it came to this
the way the archangels do
as they vape in metallic blue
Hondas floating erratically in heaven?
No, just me? Okay.
In any event,
may your path to eternal love be
not impeded by youth
community basketball games
you’re forced to attend
with your father.
Or if it cannot be
avoided, stick up for your kid brother,
who’s fighting for breath
as he jogs up the court,
with bold language
knowing that your father will
take you by the throat
every time.

Chris Prewitt is the author of Paradise Hammer (SurVision Books), winner of the 2018 James Tate Poetry Prize. Chris has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and the Best of the Net. Twitter correspondence welcome:@poetcprewitt.