Was This the First Subcommittee?

Me and Chrissy at the start line because I looked at the floor,
it covered in paint. There are thoughts of a girl
and a father but let’s change it for a novel: it’s an impression
slogan and a chance to get out: we are chugging: suddenly there’s a train.
“That’s going to be going around for some time,” says Chrissy
and I could be anything you want me to be now
but it still won’t change, as you know it’s only you here:
we haven’t moved. My heart races in the night
waking me up sometimes. Not races—pounds hard—
really out of my chest which I forget is even there.
Chrissy: “Could we be in a cave talking about an echo?”
He’s good. He’s real good. I can’t believe I found him.
I let him go ahead: he tells me he isn’t moving:
“I’m Ben Affleck.” But I’ve been here too many times.
The novel was stuck in the earliest of stages
so there was some inevitability about it including
the girl: Chris could say that. I’m not going back. Don’t get Chrissy mixed up!
And I still haven’t moved an inch—I’m still in that bath,
an old flat with a Japanese soaking tub that never existed: am I trapped? No I’m starting—
eagles up ahead would be a fine thing, rope
to pull my heart back down and stop me
leaving Chris and Chrissy and the girl and novel? Not today—
I will pull it together. Look at the gun about to fire!
“The industry could be made up,” Chrissy said.
You’ve thought it; but who cares! Better than picking names
off the floor and scrambling around with old torn books.
“It’s gone, you see.” Chrissy is talking now. “It’s gone
my name. This isn’t even a race.
I don’t know why we’re still here: you couldn’t even drive
an engine like that if you tried! Can you remember my cave suggestion?”