"All the Usual Suspects"
Photograph: ©Copyright August 1998 by John-Ward Leighton
DEAD ZONE
Ears ringing
I'm back in the city.
The microwaves and burglar alarms
emit a white noise hum
and mores the pity.
The streets scream someone's
dire straights
as the only traffic extant
is rescue vans, police cars
and an ambulance.
Then the street is empty
now except for a big yellow taxi
cruising slowly, empty light on
looking for a customer by chance.
My coffee haunt is empty
except for me and the young woman
sentenced to a day of work
on a day when everyone else is off.
There is reggae on the sound track
and the obnoxious Xmas music
has been put away for another year.
I have to go and buy fuses
the storms produced power surges
and the overhead lights in my studio are out
and I have to go back to the power boxes
there can be no more excuses.
I must buy my membership today
'cause tomorrow is laundry day
and I don't want to be turned away.
My fingers miss the keys and typos
appear like weeds in a lawn
with red pencil underline
and a visual nagging.
The cursor flashes
constantly flagging
as the start of the piece
disappears at the top of the screen.
The ear ringing drone,
underneath and over the top
of the sonic brain numbing
dead zone.