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Oneida


Oneida says she's out of time
for mining lies from crooked minds
and spending nights
     beneath strange blankets
street-to-street, tab at a time.

She says she's wasted years
killing hours for days on end
turning bar booths into confidants
     and neon signs to friends
She's held on for so long
     to her town, to trust, to hopes
But when her shaking hands start sweating,
          she starts
     to think of letting go.

Oneida's got the map, a tank of gas
          and miles to drive
But she won't listen to her screaming gut:
     she's played deaf her whole fucking life
She'll be swearing at the stars
while her feet trace the boulevards
and the window lights shine yellow
bathing sidewalks in question marks

     But Oneida knows these streets
          like she knows me

Oneida says she's leaving town
her last dime spent on dollars down
she's hedged her bets
     on 1st and twenty-
fifth at the depot.

She wants to hear new chimes
where new bells ring in brand new climes
turning traitors into confidants;
          acquaintances to friends
She's held tight for so long
     to each hand that dealt her wrong
But when her cards start flushing royal
          she starts
     to think she might not fold.

Oneida's got the will, a tank of gas
          and time to drive
But will she listen to her screaming gut?
          She's played deaf
          her whole God damn life
She'll be cursing at the stars
while her feet trace the boulevards
while the window lights gleam yellow
soaking sidewalks in question marks.

          But Oneida knows these streets
          like she knows me...

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Kyle Kulseth

My name's Kyle. I love punk rock, improv, comedy, baseball, board games, boozing and carousing with good friends, aaaand uuuuh...you, why not? I write ornery bummer poetry, because I am an ornery bummer. © 2014 Party Fowl Publishing

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