BURNING (poetryrepairshop 99.11:124 ) |
I learned that what I call mindslump has a name. Miss winters the gym teacher told me the feeling of having tire rubber camped in my brain and my gut churning biscuits is actually called ANGST. She told me that when she caught me holed up in the locker room, turning the spark plugs I yanked from my ma's Camaro over and over in my hands while I was supposed to be shooting hoops. I stole those plugs so my ma wouldn't be permitted to visit the trumpet playing fool at his practice. I wanted her home when I got there, all comfortable in her silky leopard robe and Blistex. I wanted her to rub my temples and let that tire rubber in my head burn on down that long road, leaving skid marks all the way out of this state we moved to called ANGST.
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