Erikson: Stage One

(Psychological Conflict: Trust vs. Mistrust)

At the bus stop a woman digs into the trash,
searching for satisfaction
for a need that mother America has failed to meet.
She picks up and tosses aside
until her thin fingers fall
upon a box of abandoned french fries.

My mom offers the extra meal
that the McDonald’s man had slipped inside her bag.
The woman takes the burger
to examine it with her nose-
Is it 100% beef?  she asks.
Excuse me?  my mom responds.
Is it 100% beef?  the woman repeats-
the burger still at her nose.

My mom speculates, Yes …

before returning to the blue bench
from where she glares,
at the lady nibbling in the August sun.

Checking Pulses

Checking Pulses

There’s nothing like the smell of weed and syrup in the morning,  as I weave through my thoughts and reflect on my past. They approach me like the headlights of oncoming traffic in the night, leaving yellow lines in my eyesight from staring for too long into the distance.

I need some body to lead me through this city, where the sidewalks are covered with litter and pee. It’s not hard to see how people struggle with their sanity. As they seek the balance between expressing their frustrations and waiting patiently. My whole life I aimed to wait effortlessly. Locked my emotions in cages like inmates in Cell Block B.

Bravo! To those whom are well behaved.

Bravo! To those whom saved themselves from lashing out against this broken system.

Bravo! To the man whom sells himself short just to play by the rules.

 

Sometimes, following the rules make us look like fools

and

 

cause us to break our loved ones hearts.

 

Sometimes, rules rip us apart.

 

Sometimes,  rules rip out our hearts-

 

and

 

turn our bodies into breathing machines that can only follow streams of code. Over time our compassion erodes as humanity explodes from the grenades of our “truthful” words. Sometimes, we need more than words.

We need you-

 

to hold our pain tightly
against your chest, so that we know
your heart is still beating.