YOU HEAR AMBULANCE SOUNDS AND THINK THEY ARE FOR YOU is a poem about you. It is written in the second person. It’s very hard to write anything in the second person.
This is what it’s like to sit alone in an apartment, during the day, while everyone else is at work—your roommates—and you are looking on the internet for a new job, because you hate your current job, but you don’t know what new job you want, because you don’t want to do any job, and the dog downstairs is barking forever, because the owners are out, and one of them works and the other does not, but both leave in the morning and come back late at night, like they both work, but the dog doesn’t know that and the dog doesn't care. The dog barks anyway. And you are angry because the barking is more annoying than anything you’ve ever known, and you feel like you want to kill the barking by ending the dog, but you know you can’t do that, because that's breaking-and-entering and homicide on the dog. You sit alone and let the rage build, and you think about you.
You have a lot of time so you realize things like:
“You hate other yous.”
“You couldn’t kill me if I had a connect-the-dots over my throat (and you know I mean that as a compliment).”
“You made up a game where the winner is always you.”
“You are the most beautiful motherfucker on the planet forever times the square root of 78,889.”
“You avoid phone calls.”
YOU HEAR AMBULANCE SOUNDS AND THINK THEY ARE FOR YOU is a poem about everything and nothing. It's about your life slowly coming to an end, all the time.
“You hear ambulance sounds and think they are for you and you like it.”