Easy Driver -

AKA my testosterone smock

Stains so deep they can see no end

Stains so many they can hardly be seen

Wrinkles like gashes and dirt formed shadows

My fingers swim for the end of a sleeve

And I can’t understand

It’s just my dad’s old shift

It fit him so well

Starched rigid

Firmly creased

He grew into it and it grew into him

Now I can’t hear myself through all the sounds in my head

They all tell me exactly what I want

Just call me Tetris

I’ve got the headache

Nothing fits and nothing disappears

Call me Tetris

I can’t close my eyes on it