SIMON SAYS

at work
in the parking lot of a
shitty kind of
morning

listening to
the opposite of
lullabies

windows rolled up
doors locked

and if i smoked
i would be smoking
now

out the front
window of my hot black
car

a man with glasses
directly across the way
from me

exits his car
and begins walking
towards the work building.

windows rolled up

“stop,” i say,
he does.

“lock your doors,”
he does. he can’t hear me.

“get on the roof of your
car,” and he turns back around,
robotically, and steps up onto the
roof of his car.

he is skinny and awkward,
standing on the hood of a ninety-five
civic, so naturally
unnatural.

“now jump off,” i say, and
he does. and shit
i’m late for work and i’m sure
he is too.

“take out your cellphone,”
and he does.
“call in sick for me,”
and he does.
“call in sick for you,”
and he does.

i tell him to climb a tree
and he can’t hear me
but he can,
and he does.
he swings
like a monkey from
a branch.

“go jump in
that lake!” and
like a dog chasing after
a ball, he
obeys.

he does not look
tortured.

within someone else’s will
he is peaceful and
undaunted.

he just stands there smiling
in the lake
by the parking lot
near work.

i think of all the advantages
of this situation; the
power.

i command him
never ever listen to my commands
again,
and he does.

it was nice to take a sick day.

 

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012