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catering by goody-goody's

by Gabriel Ricard

Shots were fired
and priceless paintings went up
in flames at the speed of the sound
of a deathbed conversion
at thirty-thousand feet and dropping.

It’d be one of those deals
where the bed would be just fine,
but the spirit would probably be restless
and disappointed with the consequences.

That’s just a thought. Calm down.
I’ve been the spirit longer than I’ve been trying
to disarm the reality of that with jokes and poetry readings
for the people who long ago passed through my kitchen
during times when I couldn’t get any writing done.

It was just a thought I had
when the shots were fired at a downstairs
party that had nothing to do
with what was troubling us.

I’ve never met those kids. I do know there’s
five different races accounted for, a whole mess
of substance abuse problems and the fact that one of them
likes to film everything that goes on and goes wrong.

The sooner they thin out their own ranks,
the sooner I can learn tap at four in the morning
and argue with my estranged wife through all hours of the night.

Let them do what they want. I just think it’s funny
that the gunfire happened at the exact same time your fiancé
used up my last three plates throwing them at your head.

You were tossing piggy banks, radios
and really sharp pens. The two of you were just making
a mess out of everything.

The living room was an early afternoon tribute
to just how many people could pack into the space
for whiskey shots and nudity with a side of home run fever.

The three of us were in the kitchen.
I had just about had enough.
At the same time
I think my bedroom was briefly engulfed in flames
by an acid freak capable of a living imagination.

For an hour I tried to make peace between the both of you.
For two hours I sat back and learned how to be a bartender.

Those guard dogs who took over the house two doors down
were trying to convert me to something or the other.

Everything ended all of a sudden
when I rose from the table, ducked a flying dictionary
and managed to walk out slowly and as though I didn’t know
the ceiling was coming down behind me.

I looked mighty,
mighty cool when the rain hit just as I hit
the first step downstairs.

You paid for the damages
and never asked for my opinion again,
which I still appreciate immensely.

05/04/2010

Posted on 05/04/2010
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Joe Cramer on 05/04/10 at 08:10 PM

... excellent, simply excellent.....

Posted by Charlie Morgan on 05/04/10 at 11:21 PM

...no wonder 'Mama tole me not to come...'crazy party, under the table, ala Yul Brynner, "ETCETERA, ETCETERA, ETCETERA!"

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 05/05/10 at 12:46 PM

this images you set before us in Kafkaesque motion render us slender and colorful as the rings of Saturn though we merely hail from Earth, which in its misbegotten state could stand a few of these bedazzled rings.

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/06/10 at 11:28 PM

Totally surreal and entertaining as always Gabriel. Love the new photo also; were you at a funeral?

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