|The Collected Poems of Steve McRoberts
At some point, very suddenly
the horrible realization comes.
The imperceptibly receding familiar
has now utterly disappeared
replaced with the similar
where everything shouts its wrongness.
seen in warped blurs in the strange windows,
looks just like everyone else:
sullied and lifeless and routine.
But no matter how hard you scrub
the soul-deep dirt remains
mocking you and your little efforts
when you think you're in the clear,
you become aware of those shadowy figures
trailing behind you
asking their eternal questions
and telling you with every turn
it's the wrong way.
And you shout back your blasphemy:
"Oh, to pull a Jesus:
tip over their tables
and whip them all out of town,
strap on infernal wings
ascend or descend --
it's all the same
as long as it's a flight
away from me!"
And all the angels, long dead,
laugh your defiance to scorn.
And God, bored to tears,
won't even waste a thunderbolt.
And so you continue to stumble,
walking in circles,
feverishly searching for the way out...
your life nothing but an embarrassment.