This is a poem that I wrote in my first few years of marriage as I was beginning my college career. In my mid-20’s I was still full of angst that comes from a life that is nowhere near what I wanted it to be.
This poem was published online by Spokenwar in 2009 and captured by the Wayback Machine Internet Archives in February 2010. If my recollection serves me Spokenwar published work that was a little more edgy and modern. It published text but also accepted spoken word recordings that were also posted on their website.
I don’t know if this poem was edgy or modern, but I know it was how I felt in the moment. And 17 years ago at least somebody liked it. Here it is…
Pink
Lying on a bed with a pink comforter,
Staring at a sixty-watt ceiling light
bearing down like the light of a locomotive.
The train strikes.
Wait for death,
It never comes.
I just keep lying on a pink comforter.
Comforter…
Why would anything colored bright pink
be called a comforter?
It is a distractor.
It is a reason to get a real job
To afford nicer bed spreads.
I wish that light bulb were a real locomotive.
