Matt Peulen: There Is Little Left to Leave
And So It Is Easy to Go

Spring '07 TOC

I’m leaving school today
heart high on pain.
I’m recycled like
plastic
glass
or newspaper.
A hand-me-down
thrift store child
no closer to
the next grade
because of how many
days I made.
Rage, my only shield
keeping students
and teachers
at bay
and so it is easy to go.

Unceremoniously leaving
no one gives a damn.
Wedged in the back seat
I’m embarrassed
to be just another
belonging
not belonging.
Crumbling base
stench of smoke
rats and mice
broken floors
corner whores
fuck this place.
Hope the next
isn’t worse
Will I ever
have a home?
Where others know
the real me?
Make a friend
and not move away?
I wish I were
a throwback
something everyone
is happy to see
when it returns.
Instead
I’m a pimple
gross to look at
better off ignored
until someone
pops my head
but I don’t care.
I’m not happy
even when I’m happy
and so it is easy to go.

Like moving to
a new county
I’m a refugee
an extra.
I’m thirty something
if not forty something
in every class.
Teachers don’t have time
for the new kid.
Can’t tell me what they did
before the new kid.
The rules
are a foreign language
only understanding
parts of them
picking up the rest
by breaking them
being sent out
the troublemaker.
I won’t make it here.
I can’t make it here.
But I know the fucker
that got me transferred here
and so it is easy to go.

A sawed off shotgun
in my hands.
Power and control
ink my hands.
Back across the border
to my last homeland.
Trembling adrenaline
as I reach
the apartment door.
It's locked
I use my key BANG!
Reload.
No one greets me
so we play
hide and seek.
Spray the front closet
my trigger finger itches.
Holes into the bathroom door
no blood flows.
Light up under the beds
in drawers.
Over peels of demonic laughter
I sign the refrigeratorstovemicrowavetv
but no one is home
and so it is easy to go.

In the paper now
no one proud.
Across new borders
no direction found.
The FBI close behind
ands I do not want to run
now
someone cares     where I am.
Black boots by the window
my body tenses.
Could it be that fucker
back for more?
Top of the stairs
the front door blows in.
Sprinting, chest pounding
voices
he brought friends.
Out the back door
no shots fired yet.
Then bright light

Out the back door
no shots fired yet.
Then bright light
in my right eye
down without thought
the weight on top of me
the knee in my back.
Stomach quivering
bladder waek
as the gun touches my skin
thinking of no one
and so it is easy to go.

My face wrinkled shut.
I feel others arrive
their footsteps
rumbling against my cheek
pressed painfully to the ground.
I yearn for the bullet now
imagining what awaits me
with all of the punks around.
so much yelling.
I pry open one lid
only to see masses of
black bulletproof bodies.
The metal cuts
into my wrists
but still alive
lifted off the ground
forced into the backseat
with no control
no choice
and so it is easy to go.

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Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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