Benzos

My oldest friend e-mailed me
from the sands of Afghanistan
and then went back to his gun,
leaving me to reminesce on
a hundred discussions,
and a hundred games of racquet-ball

On the T.V.,
I flipped through channels
of bad acting and worse reality shows,
to settle on some idiot biologist
swimming with monster fish
in a huge aquarium in Bangkok,
not far from the huge golden Buddhas,
the vendors selling leis and ready-to-drink coconuts,
and the tawdry bars I know too well

Listening to Elliott Smith,
I wrote back my soldier friend
sharing my joys and my troubles,
feeling dumb but finding the right words
to cross all the years and wonders and disasters
for just a moment
to bring us back to the Oregon dirt road
of our childhood

Inside, I feel angst
and a deep inferiority complex,
perhaps from never quite fitting into any one
of the myriad situations and cities
I've lived in,
always knowing only that things
will "probably" be okay

There are two cigarettes on the dresser
and, as always,
I can take or leave them
but I know in an hour
one might light my mind

But the anxious,
dis-ordered thoughts are still swirling in my head,
my muscles are tensing up,
so I take two benzos
to induce a chemical half-content
that can only last so long