returning to international time by Gabriel RicardI can’t hear anything but the sound
of my own voice. I try to remember if there were people
around when I first came in and nearly smashed the glass door
behind me due to unpredictable weather. I vaguely remember
a dozen or so best-dressed faces at the bar and some kids
nearby playing darts without a board.
I try to remember how long I’ve been on stage
and whether or not I’ve said anything
that’s even interesting, let alone funny enough
to justify the way I can’t keep the microphone still.
There’s no telling how many miles
I’ve covered over these last twenty feet.
When I go to light a cigarette
I drop my lighter over the edge
of the left side of the stage and realize
it’s at least twelve stories straight down.
It’s only from the right
or straight through the middle
and into the conscience of whatever wants to tear me
apart between the pool tables and the front door
that I can guarantee my safety.
This wasn’t how it started when I first came in.
I’ve decided to become sure of that
at the same time I’m finally willing to admit
to the things I’m better at dreaming about.
I’ve had more luck
with any circumstances
where it doesn’t matter what you say
or how much of the ground doesn’t exist
until you step on it.
I thank everyone or anyone for their time. I step off
the stage to the right and find a hundred more
people than I would have guessed.
They’re not paying me any attention,
so I head outside. I think that I could always
get back on for the eleven o’clock or 2012 rush,
depending on how long I was really up there.
I just need some new material. It’s easy enough,
though I think that I probably shouldn’t have said so
even if it was just to myself.
A quick look around reveals nothing more exciting
than an oak tree as big as the grand canyon growing
out of an old loft apartment across the river.
A preacher with grape juice running down his chin
is also trying to save a shopping cart full of paperweight chorus line dolls.
The rest of the world has places to almost go
and people to think they’ve already seen.
None of that stuff has ever been funny.
01/30/2010 Posted on 01/30/2010 Copyright © 2025 Gabriel Ricard
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