-it really is the same sad story,
only the hero seems to die
and I can’t remember what the original point
was supposed to be

-but I’m thinking the edges fit nicely,
sharp as ever beneath your sleeves;
maybe there’s a reason why
we can’t seem to meet
on the same side

Reasons. Reasons. Reasons.

Baby,
I’m sixty-five years old,
and I’ve loved you
since that day when all the kids
in the goddamn neighborhood
got together and burned
Our Lady of Silent Reluctance
to the fucking ground.

So far as I know,
you’re the only reason
why I’m afraid to die.

But I gotta admit
that I’m getting a little sick
of all your goddamn reason.

Exactly
what in the hell
has it ever done for us?

-those kids were bastards
with spoiled lives and
too much faith in an afterlife

-everything should have burned to the ground that day

-you want the rhyme without the reason,
but I don’t want to play with the magnetic poetry
on the fridge anymore

-I’m getting a little sick of having to explain
myself in three words or less
if I’m the only reason for fear,
then maybe you need to turn on the television
and see what life isn’t like for others

-or maybe there’s just too much pressure
in finding a way out

As far as I can tell,
it was all a question of trading in
the nerve to follow through
for knowing anything at all,
and every bit of it was long gone
before I could ever make up my mind.

Meanwhile,
I avoid the news,
watch old movies
and take you out to dinner
at what used to be Tommy’s place.

And if I’m guilty of anything,
it’s of wondering
just what in the holy hell
has happened to me.

-you were always a nervous wreck,
cracking knuckles every few minutes
while popping anxiety pills I told you weren’t needed

-I always have made the decisions,
balanced the checkbooks
and let you win a few of the hands dealt

-I thought it would make you love me
more,
but I think, instead, it made me resent myself
for being both the dealer and loser too many times

-and if I’m guilty of anything,
it’s of wishing I hadn’t canceled most of our dinner dates

-Tommy’s was always my favorite
and you were always my first love,
but both seem to have been lost

-I’m writing everything down right now
so I can figure out how to change the ending

Well,
it’s pretty safe to say
that I know roughly fuck-all
on the subject of endings anymore.

I know how to wait.
I know how to live
with disbelief.

And I know some morning soon,
one of us is going to age fifty years
trying to get the other one to wake up.

On a good day,
and today does qualify,
I don’t mind
having nothing to show
for watching them change
this city a half-dozen times.

In other words,
I guess this is as good a time
as any to ask if you’re happy
with the way things turned out.

Go on.
Devastate me.

-you remember our first fight?
you were watching the Lakers get beat
and I really wanted to fuck, so
I stood in front of the television,
turned it off
and motioned for you to follow

-you were not amused

-before I could even attempt humor,
you flung the remote towards the bedroom door

-we didn’t sleep beside each other that night.

-you’ve apologized many times since then,
but we both know that was the beginning of the plot to our movie

-and we’ve yet to figure out how to fix the remote.

-I’m not saying I want to leave you,
because I know I can’t;

-I can’t because you’re the bruise to my ego,
the knife in my chest
and the smile on my face

-some people might consider this relationship as disastrous,
but both of us know what’s on the other’s mind
and neither want to turn the knife towards
our backs

-I could devastate you,
and I believe I already have,
but then who would be left to wake me up
when this old heart has forgotten how to breathe.

01/11/2009

Posted on 01/12/2009
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