Home

absolutely fine, absolutely

by Gabriel Ricard

One for the road,
one for my health
and not yours, and then one
for the sake of being a smartass.

On that last one,
I say we drink to that poor guy
who has to sit on his front porch in a dog collar.

He drove a garbage truck when I was a kid, I remember.
Ran a church until he stole all their money and tried to run
away to Mexico with his sixteen-year-old-daughter.

It might have been Mexico. With him it’s possible
that he just tossed some sand and tequila in the attic
and told that stupid kid of his that it was Mexico.

Unfortunately I know all about him. I’ve been here long enough
to know about him or that party on Seiler Ave that hasn’t stopped
in three years. Not for madness, not for a couple of tragic accidents
and certainly not for a busted ceiling.

You wouldn’t know that at last count there were more
liquor bottles and empty kegs in that backyard than there are
tombstones in Ms. Lipkin’s basement. That’s fine. No shame in that.
Those horror movies have been good to you.

I saw the first two, but I’ve been paying off library fines
and those crooked drug dealers down the street
like crazy lately. I’m trying to have one foot rooted in honesty
while the other is ready to kick the door down.

You’ve got a franchise going. That’s brilliant.
I don’t recall you ever actually seeing a horror movie,
but that’s still brilliant. Least of all the way that director
guy has taught you how to best leave the scene of a crime.

Most likely
you never would have picked that up staying here.

It still rains five months out of the year.
The roller rink is still haunted, and the Ferris wheel
is still jammed into the top of City Hall.
There’s still weekly bloodshed
on Century Ave and land mines remain a problem everywhere.

You would be miserable
if we had gotten pregnant.

People still ask about the wedding,
and if you really did laugh at me like that.

If they’re senile I just tell them it didn’t happen.
I tell them our kids are away at camp,
and that you're visiting your folks on Mars.

03/25/2010

Posted on 03/25/2010
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Ken Harnisch on 03/26/10 at 04:08 AM

quirky, laden with imagery, the sands i wish i had more time to sift through, word by word...this second persual is just not enough!

Posted by Glenn Currier on 03/26/10 at 03:42 PM

Gees, it is absolutely fricking amazing how a poem like this one (is there any other like this one?) can take me back into my old neighborhood visiting those old people on their porches, wondering what horrors lie behind their front doors, all the while enjoying the trip of your mind... tripping over the images, slipping on the sand, falling on my butt, laughing at myself drunk with your imagination. Brilliant. Love the shamrock ears.

Posted by Ryan Nardi on 03/27/10 at 12:10 AM

Dude... Awesome. You've got that noir detective novel tone down, but with that spice that makes it harder to place than anything so typical. Just awesome. Always.

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 03/27/10 at 11:42 AM

your narrative style always makes me feel like I am on a tour bus and the driver is guiding me through Hollywood, pointing out the homes of the Hollywood Stars, save this isn't Hollywood but a dream, and these are not the homes of Stars but these are houses where Dreams Reside.

Posted by Alisa Js on 03/28/10 at 01:38 AM

Hi Gabriel... You have a fabulous ability to pull the reader in....right to the scene of your well written pieces. You are quite the talented man, but then again, I'm sure you know that!!! alisa ;-)

Return to the Previous Page
 

pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online
All works Copyright © 2024 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)