Dream Culpibility

         (circa 1999)
 
         In my small 3rd floor

          Queens apartment bedroom
 
          next to the Steinway Stop of the R train,
 
          I am awakened from my deep sleep,
 
         in our quilt covered bed,
 
         and a room with French doors covered in lace,
 
         walls covered in aqua colored satin paint,
 
         with a hard PUNCH in my arm
 
         in the pre-9/11 quiet

         of the first rays of sunrise.
 
         It is like being blindsided T-boned

        by a garbage truck

         on the passenger side of a 1979 Buick
 
         on some random week day.
 
         It is walking up the dark stairwell of the apartment
 
         hallway and blindsided wacked by a wise guy.
 
         I say, “Ough!  OUUGGHHH!   Are you crazy?”
 
         She says, “You were mean to me in my dream!”
 
         “???????”