Fred Aiken Writing

Tag: Poetry

July 5, 2024

the noise of celebration

the infernal bam, whiz, crackle
of a thousand, maybe more, maybe less,
i don’t know,
fireworks blaring through the night,
for what? i ask no one in particular
as i attempt the breathing exercises i read
about to help with falling asleep in any and every conditions,
in fact, the marines apparently use the same sort of breathing techniques
to fall asleep in the middle of war,
but that’s the beginning and end of what i have in common with
the marines,
also, the breathing techniques aren’t working,
in a way, they’re making the fireworks louder,
and it’s harder to fall asleep,
but i suppose as long as our forefathers did this
during the continental congress,
then it’d be unpatriotic of me to call the police,
so i just go to work the next morning,
tired from staying up till 2am,
maybe next year i’ll try getting drunk to lull me to sleep
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July 4, 2024

adolescent proclivities in adulthood

despite having shaved countless times before,
i still find myself cutting myself
like an amateur butcher
too afraid to go near any major arteries,
connecting me to adolescence
when i learned how to shave for the first time,
when i sprayed on too much axe body spray
to hide the rank sweat smell of the boy’s locker room
from following me home,
well, i guess there are quite a few things that don’t change
when becoming an adult
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July 3, 2024

go to sleep//i tell myself

it's late,
i'm tired, but not that tired,
so i will keep myself up
while the owls howl their abstract songs
in the mist of a nocturnal hunt
while crickets dance in rhythmic 
syncopation, to and fro, 
as the wild night frolics into chaos,
and i listen somewhere in the background,
counting made-up sheep to fall,
perhaps drift,
perhaps nod,
off, and off, and off
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