The Garbage Eater: Poems

Lyke as a ship, that through the Ocean wyde

22 Lykeasaship,thatthroughtheoceanwyde I take a taxi to the DMV on free weekdays, and like a stowaway observe the goings-on, this long ennui. Too many lines inch forward to convey futility at 10 a.m.—“Come stay awhile and meet some interesting folks,” joked one employee on the phone that day. They stare, endure the PA drone, and coax returning predecessors like an axle’s spokes. Across the room someone hollers at a clerk: a drunken driver unforgiven here, debilitated by the paperwork. I’ve come to learn the desperate straits they steer, the necessary clarities that jeer at them through clipboards, forms, the March head cold. They swear and groan, then sigh and disappear. Another guy who’s recently paroled desires renewal. He does everything he’s told. Young people with their nervous thumbs await the fifteen minutes that will change their lives. Stiff permits serve as amulets of state. The overweight instructor soon arrives to terrify the sophomore when he drives. Successful ones display their toothy grins and from the photo booth pass friends high fives. Two ovals stain that navy screen. The lens can’t see the dirty torso where the soul begins. ...