Preferring Forgettable

I am imagining I am  
ensconced at the back of the car  
on my way to grapple with the day,  
there is a current of air on my knuckles,  
the cold reaching into the recesses  
between bones, the fingers complain,  
the mind is an indecisive bee,  
alighting onto this problem and that,  
hovering over the nightmare I woke to,  
sleep has been like this new style  
of swimming, you try to trouble  
the surface as little as possible,  
you make the smallest of waves,  
you do not sink to the dark parts,  
never the head above the waterline,  
you wake at the scream of fear.  

The song on the radio is laughing  
at small, forgettable lives,  
I imagine I will want to google  
the song to still the nag:  
who wrote that and when?  
I am imagining a small, forgettable life,  
days when there is no poison  
in the air, I am imagining
disembarking and walking,  
sans mask, hearing the words  
threaded into my head  
 
“'Cause he's oh, so good  
And he's oh, so fine  
And he's oh, so healthy  
In his body and his mind  
He's a well-respected man about town  
Doing the best thing so conservatively.”
 
The Kinks – A Well Respected Man