Stephanie Gray

After Tim Dlugos' Things I Might Do I probably didn't tell you that the last Line of your poem left me on a plane of Movement somewhere between the best of pop Culture and the longest break in your favorite pop song I probably didn't tell you that the train is going to take Way longer than you think and you were probably annoyed I probably broke the moon in pieces with my night vision Straining too hard to remember what I probably dropped in your inbox I probably should've said what I meant. You probably knew how my life didn't fix into That theory box on your shelf, so I probably Ignored you when you said hi to me near Mercer St I probably left off the most important thing But you probably didn't want to hear it I probably tried to be a good New Yorker and Work hard and play hard but it didn't work Out that way, I probably just reverted back to The Rust Belt mode—work hard, have it not mean Enough to play hard or play at all. It's probably too hard to make A dent for yourself in the Rust Belt. It's all probably said and done Your neighbor knows what you did tomorrow and what was Going on yesterday. Probably good too so you don't get in trouble With the other neighbor. But they probably don't know that you could Be in NY for a few hours and have something good and so life changing happen To you it was probably a 360 for you and probably took You years to come down to 180, probably, right?

you know I wanted to know which one, the bridges are all made of metal out here, the diners are still chrome-plated-affairs, a silver lunch box you could almost pick up and carry on your way home but instead you fit yourself inside of its dents, bulky, heavy metal, you just went for the leather jacket, you know I flung myself through that metal that was so heavy, no not mental, but metal, I flew threw(ough) the Blue Sky Diner, right through Sunnyside's train yards, so high I saw both the trees and trains, the tops of the semitrucks that squish through skinny streets with not metal but bricks beneath the surface, you know it was all one and the same, unironic heavy metal, you know there is such a thing, I hate to have to say it this way, you know under the bridge near Skillman High School is the best place for a heavy metal concert next to the metal Queensboro Bridge, next to the Blue Sky Diner flying in the sky, adjacent to Sky Line Auto and landing for a beer with a splash at the Fire Water Inn - you know you're on fire, in the water, and the metal, hot, dunked into it, sizzles - yeah, I know you said the riffs sounded like metal, I know exactly which ones, which dented sides the notes screeched to and fro to, over and over, a riff engaged in a tiff of metal, the most perfect sound, perfect sound of all