Every street runs two seasons a night,
so I never have a problem trying to find
the right background, the right set of trees.
Whether it’s Spanish moss from labyrinth branches
or green tree tops that look like a city in the middle of a mountain.

I’m never at a loss for a place
to stand and hope to God I see you
coming out of nowhere and into view.

You start with whiskey shots at the gas station
right outside of town. You drive past the city limits sign
bending under fire and work your way around
the long line of abandoned cars and Greyhound buses
that haven’t been seen in fifty years or more.

Around here,
the disaster is greater than the straightforward history.

You have to get your hands dirty
and go blind for a couple of days
to find anything that’s actually worth a damn.

I don’t know if you’ll actually be able to find me,
come to think of it,
but I’ve chosen to hope you might try.

So, you get to the gas station,
knock down four shots and tip the bartender
fifteen dollars. He’ll call you a cab
that’s gonna break down six blocks into the driver’s
eerily accurate predictions about the end of the world.

Don’t pay the driver,
and don’t wish him well. Just get out of the cab,
walk to that phone booth up the street and step inside.

Wait for the phone to ring,
answer and tell the crumbling librarian voice
on the other end that you’re sorry she lost
everything in the war that’s no longer public knowledge.

If you’re sincere she’ll tell you the street you’re going to want.
Or at the very least she’ll put you close enough that you’ll have to
stop inside one of those Last Exit kind of places.
The door in the back takes you right up to the front
and whatever hefty tab you’ve worked yourself into.

Don’t be afraid.
No one’s looking to pull you in
for a lifetime and a half membership.

You just have to drink five more shots
and tell the girl at the counter about your favorite song.

She’ll tell you that there’s a good place nearby
that can accommodate any musical taste.
It’s past the shadows in grey hats who are obligated
to never stop believing in the hope that comes
with holding out your hands and waiting for a stranger.

Past those guys,
Past the hole in the sky
and all the people up there looking down
on us over martinis and classic rock radio,
and you’ll find the place she was talking about.

Through those doors,
and it’s your best bet for finding me.

I have no idea of what my condition
or age will be. I can’t promise I’ll remember you right away.

My optimism will mostly go into
whether or not I’m going to see you at all.

I’ve been holding on for years,
and I’ve been muttering the memories
of everything I’ve ever done.

There’s some good in there,
and you’ve seen more of it than anyone. That’s why
I’m hoping for you more than anyone else.

You have to hold on somehow,
and I’m doing the best I can.

The rest is up to you,
and I do apologize very sincerely for that.

09/30/2009

Posted on 09/30/2009
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