Again

I'm not sure what happened to my livejournal. I used to post there in grad school, so maybe I still have it out in cyberspace somewhere. Who knows. First I'll post a poem I wrote this summer that I'm not too impressed with but it's a good start:

Back on the prowl and playin' the field.
I don't want to be in this field anymore.
I never liked sports anyway. Especially not this one. Not on television, not in the bleechers, not in the mood.
I don't want to be on this field.
I don't want to be in this game. I don't even want to buy a juicy hot dog with relish and mustard and ketchup and onions and all the fixins or a taco with the salsa and the sour cream.
I want to walk off the field because I was never on it. I was always in the stands, cheering the movers and the shakers, moving further back away up the bleechers to the heterosexual crowd that are too married to have sex or with the nuns and celibates because I thought the ball would hit me or maybe one of the players.
But if I go back to my car now and never see the score, what will I tell my children? I know that damn driver's seat too well. Always behind the wheel with nowhere to go but away.
I don't have the map anymore back home.