Martin Vest

Incognito

Reaganomics, televangelists,
plastic surgery, mushroom clouds,
the upwardly-mobile future—
We wanted no part of it.
The guns and pills in the mouths
of our heroes were proof
that we were committed.
Wanting anonymity,
we made ourselves unrecognizable,
dyed and studded and inked our bodies,
made ourselves unemployable,
frightening to the neighbors.
We stood in line for hours
at record stores
and concert venues,
the way we now stand
at the pharmacy
for Flomax, Eliquis, Norvasc.
It’s the perfect disguise.
No one would ever suspect
that we didn't intend to live this long.

 

Martin Vest’s poetry has appeared in journals such as Rattle, Slipstream, Salamander, The New York Quarterly, DMQ Review, Chiron Review, elsewhere. He lives in the high desert of Eastern Idaho.