By the time that I finally climbed

out of my polluted mind

it was October.

and I crawled out of my cave

pulled one foot back

out of the grave

and pulled on a pair of pants

found a shirt that would work

and did a little getting-dressed dance

but with a mountain of dirty laundry,

and no clean socks in sight…

flip-flops would do just fine, right?

so i grabbed a good book

and took my reusable coffee mug from the table,

placed them in my bag

and finally i was able to step outside

and as i was beginning to feel thankful I was still alive

and excited for the strong coffee

that awaits at the cafe,

I saw that it was raining…

and it was a hard rain falling

so i walked back into the house

put on a pair of dirty socks

and thrift-store shoes,

took a glance over at the booze

but shook my head

because I know Jack could care less

if i was dead

but he is a good friend to wait with

but I could spend my whole life waiting with him

on the world to change

just like i could spend all day

waiting on the rain

to go away

but sometimes it’s just a rainy day

and I still need fresh air

and I want that pumpkin spice coffee

from the Sugar Bowl

and I miss hearing that Polish accent behind the counter

though I don’t know why

maybe because my great-grandmother

probably sounded like that

back in the day when she came

to the land of the free…

but here, i have to pay for refills,

but that’s okay

and even on a rainy day

I know things will be okay

in the grand scheme of things

and life is good, right?

so long as we look on the bright side…

like seeing the beauty on Dot Ave

even on a rainy day

as the cars drive by

and the children play

on the streets named after the children of Irish immigrants

near the modern day Vietnamese businesses

and isn’t it ironic?

and the old men smoke and joke

and the college kids laugh and toke and come in for ice cream

and the grandmothers carry bags

of groceries

and bags under their eyes

etched through the years for their Irish-American sons

or their Vietnamese sons

both killed in a political war…

and both of their American grandsons and granddaughters

still fighting in new political wars

and i need more coffee

though now I want to make it Irish

and it’s still raining

and it’s the first day of October

and less and less people care

that it’s bombs over Baghdad once again

and the newsmen talk of an aging Tom Brady

throwing two interceptions

not a word of TWENTY-TWO American women and men

throwing in the towel every day

on lives they view as too painful to take

Twenty-Two Veterans committing suicide every single day

but it’s not like we can invade the VA

or the beltway…

and more dead civilians

and soldiers

by the rivers of Babylon

won’t make the demons go away

and just as i am trying my best

to find the beauty

of rainy day Dorchester Avenue

I look up and it’s still raining

and the old men are gone now

and the kids are gone

probably at home playing violent video games

and the college kids are giggling in the back of the cafe

over their melting ice cream

and the grandmothers are probably home for the day

drinking tea in their rocking chairs

as Fox News scares them half to death

that’s not far away for them as it is

and as I walk up for a refill of pumpkin spice coffee

listening to Lowkey rap about the world in my earphones

two tinted out, all black SUV’s park out front

“Boston Police SWAT”

says the white lettering

on the armored vehicles…

and they walk inside

one at first,

followed by three more

all geared up and armed

and I’m getting anxiety

though I’m doing nothing wrong

and as I walk back to my seat

with round two of pumpkin spice coffee

they order their own coffee

and muffins and donuts

and sit down and shoot the shit

the same as the now-sketched out college kids in the back

I know they’re just 4 dudes, human beings…i get it

but I also know goddamn well what these armed men represent

these are the same folks

who arrested me twice

for civil disobedience during Occupy Boston

and bloodied the nose of a decorated Korean War vet…

in the days when I learned

there’s no such thing as ‘freedom of speech’

and these men don’t deserve any respect

and if they really need a cup of Joe

for fuck’s sake, why can’t they get it to go?

‘they got a job to do’…okay, fine!

But nobody in here’s committed a crime

and I’m trying to stay positive

trying to read my book in peace

and find the beauty of Dot Ave

even on a rainy day

I don’t need these SWAT goons

smoking and joking and eyeballing my tattoos

but in case they’re wondering, yes this is an upside down flag

and that is Arabic and Hebrew on both my wrists

Salaam and Shalom,

and I mean it…

and I came here in peace

just to get a pumpkin spice coffee and read

a book about a community garden in Cleveland

and i know that you four are human

and I’m not acting anxious

because I’m breaking any law

It’s because when you walked in

the first thing I saw

was the Glock

and I know

that you could get away with it

if I went up for more pumpkin spice coffee

and you thought I was too aggressive,

worst case for you

you’d get a paid vacation

or stuck behind a desk…

so, I apologize

for these being the thoughts in my head

when I look up from a rainy Dorchester Avenue

and see you and your crew

roll up in armored trucks

and how can i concentrate on this book now,

fuck…

but at least, for right now

I’m glad I’m not dead

it’s October and raining…

but I made it

out of bed

and after I sat back down

with my pumpkin spice coffee

and changed the music to Jimi

I was able to relax and finish the book

and pay no mind to the authoritative looks

and stares…

after all,

maybe they were just admiring

the artwork on my arms.