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Brady Rhoades

Insomnia XXI

It's good to go to the playground in the pre-dawn, in the fourth month of your
40th year, or 52nd, or 35th, hang upside-down from a monkey bar
with a heavy head of blood and write a letter
to yourself.

Say everything you want to say that's sentimental, cruel.
Start simply. What happened? Quote Ivan Illych. What if your whole life's been wrong?
Be dramatic. As a child, you dreamed! Conspire against God, government, family,
then praise them.

Mock fear. In this case, a blinding fear of blindness. You're blind to most of the universe,     stupid.
Or death. Be food for a change, hog. End on a positive note, if you can.
It's never too late to be saved.
You're alive, or hadn't you noticed?

©2005 by Brady Rhoades

Brady Rhoades writes poems and short stories. His work has appeared in Amherst Review, Art Times, Blue Mesa Review, Cold Mountain Review, Red Wheelbarrow, Slipstream, Visions International, and other publications. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in poetry in 2005. He lives in Southern California.

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