November like a train wreck – The sky is a thick, cold gauze – – Or maybe I’ll visit beautiful Donna, I know there are some people out there with a gun and a bottle full of hate, But I hate those people back and my happiness would kill them and I force myself toward pleasure,
as if a locomotive made of cold
had hurtled out of Canada
and crashed into a million trees,
flaming the leaves, setting the woods on fire.
but there’s a soup special at the Waffle House downtown,
and the Jack Parsons show is up at the museum,
full of luminous red barns.
the kickboxing queen from Santa Fe,
and roll around in her foldout bed.
who think I am supposed to end up
in a room by myself
a locked door and my slack mouth open
like a disconnected phone.
from the core of my donkey soul
and the hatred makes me strong
and my survival is their failure,
so I shove joy like a knife
into my own heart over and over
and I love this November life
where I run like a train
deeper and deeper
into the land of my enemies.
— Tony Hoagland, Reasons to Survive November
