I hear the parking services guy try to flirt
with a member of the women’s basketball team.
I never hear the answer but I’m pretty sure
it’s a gummy bear
it’s a who the hell cares bear
it’s a luckless romance bear
it’s a hopeless bear
it’s my music trying to overpower the construction
in my head as I look both ways, but all I can hear is
the sound of cold air in the empty service plaza
the sound of Harry Nilsson bleating on the records
the sound of a dog bark every Tuesday
the sound of Rite of Spring in bubbling rain puddles
the sound of sliding glass panes on display cases
the sound of my heartbreak’s laughter as we kick ourselves
the sound of the operatic voice as I string Christmas lights
the sound of the clicks and clacks of the roller coaster I used to know
all the twists and turns to. all programmed in my memory.
the special codes. the mocking of guests. the no screaming policy.
and now I’m some alumnus that no one could care less about
so why participate anymore
why care anymore
why try anymore
why and why and
I finish watching Pulp Fiction for the first time
and all I know is I’m crushing hardcore on Vincent Vega.
I want to go back to the diner scene on Netflix.
the computer says no
the computer says error
the computer says you can’t do that
the computer says fuck you
An actor I always found unattractive was now
some gorgeous man shrine and I hated myself for it
but damn, he was good. I now crave a burger.
I crave a tasty mother fucking burger.
