may 1991 by Scott Ferry

that day i kept surfing that left off of rincon point

and couldn’t fall the clouds surreal tangerine

that day i dropped acid when i got home 

and ken and i drove to bluegrass bands at a local bar

and too many mason jars of beer syphoned down

without enough food and then i notice ken was sloppy

so i drove his drunk ass from goleta to isla vista in his truck

one headlight out and of course the police swirled lights 

and i eventually stopped after pretending i didn’t see, 

turning left down a street calls of “put your hands on the wheel!” 

and an awkward pidgeon-toed test failed and blowing into

the machine until i found myself in a cell with a water

faucet that sprayed you in the face and i noted, correctly

that “this was just to fuck with us” repeatedly laughing

even though i was in jail and the acid just made the entire

experience more transparently controlling but at least

we got bologna sandwiches and a place to sit on concrete

and when i was released in the morning after gagging

on nicotine fumes from other occupants i decided not

to call anyone, decided to run home the five miles because

i deserved it, so i ran, down the same road that funnels into UCSB

now a senior and done with swim team now released into full

enjoyment as evidenced by the last 12 hours and i made it

home down el colegio to the santa ynez apartments 

to find Ken still passed out, me, jail-stenched and sweaty

showering all this freedom off my skin all this absolute

freedom off my skin

Scott Ferry helps our Veterans heal as a RN. He has recent work in the American Journal of Poetry, Misfit, and Spillway. His second book, Mr. Rogers kills fruit flies, is available from Main St. Rag. You can find more of his work @ ferrypoetry.com.