There are two halves constantly at war within me.
The first is control,
It is the side I am rooting for
While the other is anarchy,
Whose consequences would be catastrophic
Were it to emerge victorious.
Such is the state of my psyche at any given moment.
I am a walking time bomb,
A human pressure cooker whose settings are too high.
At the age of 26
(A lifetime ago,)
My buddy and I spoke at length about the 27 Club.
He made me swear that I would never join its notorious ranks,
(Though praise be to Hendrix, Joplin, and Cobain.)
What do you do when your hometown
No longer feels like home,
When the people you love and all the memories you’ve gathered
Have gone away,
Leaving a place tinged with melancholy
Despite the near-constant sunshine?
Fleeing the unreal city,
My spirit travels a thousand miles
To the banks of a mighty river.
Resting for a moment on a loveseat,
I observe the transience of nature
And the walks of life that cross
The old suspension bridge.
The western sky promises rain.
Needless to say, I welcome it,
So that I may emerge newly baptized
Beneath the Midwestern sun.
To be reborn to the strains of folk music
Playing on the deck
Of a passing riverboat.
© Chester Sakamoto