Something to be Said

Mendy, out in Massapequa,
had something to say.

Out in Massapequa, Mendy,
put a callused, arthritic hand

in another smooth, dextrous
one, and placed it by the wall.

Mendy thought of the street-light,
Massapequa’s, and wondered why,

today, it shone different, altered
enough, binding him to understand

that he now had something to say.
Mendy, out in Massapequa, had

something to say.

Having something to say out
in Massapequa was an alright state

to obtain. Not usual for Mendy, not
unusual for a one like Mendy to obtain.

It pushed him into joy, this fact.
A newborn fact that he, now out in

Massapequa, Mendy,
had something to say.

Mendy, out in Massapequa,
grown almost pregnant with

something to say, grappled
with all he had not said.

He heard a variety of frequencies,
the settling of tones; Mendy,

considered his previous attack, out in
Massapequa, and his longtime friend.

Would he, likewise out here, out in
Massapequa, have something to say?