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around and around and

by Gabriel Ricard

A flash of crows in Philadelphia
who make no bones about wanting
to pick someone apart.
Those times when I grip the wire mesh fence
covering a bridge over the last unfamiliar highway
and wonder if it would be possible to get the lights
to pass through me and not the cars themselves.

I need something that’s damn near going to kill me.
The abstract needs to pull itself together.

When I was twelve years old
and saw an American city for the first time.
The woman who got me to make a fool of myself
by having me quietly obsess over that kiss we shared
in the driveway of my impossible home.

I want to feel like I’ve really accomplished something.
These stories need to feel like they can safely move on.

A bunch of elephants getting territorial
over a famous used car dealership in Memphis, Tennessee.
The last time I ever spoke to my biological father,
he was absolutely stunned to find out I wasn’t gay.

The unusual needs to start coming at me from every direction.
I’ve got to get serious about not being serious at all.

When I finally started sticking up for myself,
I won almost every fight I ever got into.
I haven’t heard nearly enough live music
in all the different places that have passed me by.

I haven’t seen nearly enough of the impossible.
I wouldn’t mind a standing ovation for no reason at all.

A bunch of atheists are singing Christmas carols
without a trace of irony or cynicism.
The ghosts in Atlanta are sick of being ignored
and are working towards unionizing.

I’m sick of short-term solutions for broken hearts.
Time needs to learn how to move more quickly at night.

The last silent-film actress goes to the movies
for the first time in forty-three years.
My career has lasted longer than any relationship
I’ve had with anyone outside of my immediate family.

I wonder if there’s such a thing as too much honesty.
The great wide open isn’t wide enough around here.

There.
There we go.
I think that about covers it.

Most of it.
A lot of it.

A portion of it.

Actually,
it doesn’t really even begin to cover it.

Not really.
Not even close.

Sorry.
Let me try again.

Just
let
me
try
one
more
time.

I’m usually smarter the fifth of sixth time around.

01/30/2010

Posted on 01/30/2010
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Ava Blu on 02/02/10 at 02:23 PM

So far, this is my favorite and has been properly added to my huge (too huge for me, really, because it drives my OCD-ness insane) list of favorites. The ending wasn't my favorite, but everything before it was perfection. (Maybe it's because I see so much of you in it.) It still makes me ache, like most of your poems. It still makes me want to hug you (which I can actually do now, since we live together). So when I hug you, you'll know why.

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