Sestina
Dave Morrisson
It was a job, he was paid to be lonely
customers slowed to a trickle as the night
wore on. He was saving up for a Camaro -
he rang up cat food, baby formula, cigarettes
inside the store time stopped, while outside motion
hummed in all the wires, even thought the street was dead.
Even though North Main was dead
Mobil barren, Exxon deserted, PowerTest lonely,
he drank bitter coffee and dreamed of motion
a noisy bullet ripping the night
Thin Lizzy, Jim Beam, cigarettes
a destiny-seeking missile, '69 Camaro.
He knew, somewhere deep, that this Camaro
was a second-hand dream from someone long dead
you can't survive on delusion and cigarettes
the voices on the radio only made him more lonely
he knew his dreams wouldn't last through the night
like a freezing man, his only hope was motion.
So, static in the store, his mind was in motion,
wiping his hands on his jeans, slamming the hood of the Camaro
thinking "this could be the night,
only this moment is alive, my world is dead,"
thinking, "how can you be lonely
with rock & roll and cigarettes?"
Easy. Rock & roll and cigarettes
and Jim Beam and motion
can be pretty damn lonely
with or without a Camaro
when your soul lies dead
in an airless night.
It was a job, he worked the night
shift, ringing up milk and lotto and cigarettes
the singer sang 'ready ready ready' but the singer was dead,
a fly and the clock hands were the only motion
If only he could save up enough money for the Camaro
He wouldn't be so lost, so lonely
He closed his eyes. He had to put his plan in motion
For $475 he could buy Joey Hoyle's '69 Camaro
The door opened. The phone rang. The radio played 'Only the Lonely'.