Psychic Storage Unit

by Sasha Pearl

I used to fall asleep in restaurants

Head on the banquette

Snoring like a baby pitbull

I could sleep through the clattering of plates

And the laddeling of soups

And the wishing of brutal birthdays

Because happiness was for the weak

And beds were for sick people in hospitals

I wasn’t comfortable at night

Maybe I fell asleep from fear

and only stayed awake to impress others

And then your habits become your character

Only awake to strive for validation

Or otherwise search for things you don’t have

Everyone reflects and has memories

Mine are all of jobs

13 behind the mop, 16 behind the glass

I don’t count sheep I count dishpits

Night time is open season on discounted commercial VCT tile

On my mom’s facebook marketplace account

Where I tread unseen and all seeing

Like a cyber coywolf

Across landscapes of virtual auctions

I bet Rick from LaGrange wonders why

A 65 year old lady in a patchwork bucket hat

Is asking about the standover height

On that 2005 Kawasaki Ninja

Night time is when free lists beckon

When I fill my mind’s storage unit

With materials

Art deco vanities,

Turnkey pizza restaurants

I, watching till my eyes bleed

My fantasy of being a free man in paris

If paris were a carpeted bathroom

Upstairs from a carwash

I’d like to have 2 bodies

One commuter body

And one for pleasure

But it’s just the one

And it’s not insured for total collision Just me and this little dog

Eating prime rib in bed

While I memory trip on a ballpoint pen From the Johnny Z casino

Egyptian musk, flour on my elbows No wiles to speak of

Brushing my teeth

Dog pee on my pants

Late to make the pizza pies

I’m helping

I’m so nice that nobody knows How I want to get high high

Sasha Pearl grew up in the Hudson Valley region of New York state and is now 35 years old. She is a professional bus driver. This is her first published piece of writing.