it was a surprise intervention.
i don't know what was worse
the cheap cardboard party hats
or the store bought cake
that said congratulations in
big pink letters
over a poorly transferred photograph
of some kid i don't recognize
staring stupidly out.

there was a cigarette
idling in an ashtray just beyond
arms reach
i tried to will it to my lips
not willing to start smoking again
for anything short of a magic trick

i watch the smoke and ask it
why it dances like that
there are children around
though they may not know the meaning
they catch the drift.

There's about fifteen thousand intersections
between this backyard and the next house over,
and I've wasted a lot of really useful ambition
proving that to you over and over again.

I don't care if you have to borrow money
from someone at this party to get an existentialist
bus driver to stop by to bring you all that unopened mail
and then drive you to where those points of lights
will cure half of you and throw bad luck at the rest.

All I know is that I'm tired,
and there's enough room here to put my feet up.

Enough quiet enemies to make it possible for me
to fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon.

I ain't goin' nowhere.

even if you caught the nightmare train
out of town
i'll keep just enough booze
close enough to keep your memory
fresh and a little fuzzy.

maybe you're the magic trick
i was waiting for.
maybe it's just wishful thinking
maybe it's just plain bad luck
because i can't seem to shake you

or stop thinking...

We're old friends, remember?

We used to pick up old faces
from movie heroes who didn't flicker
and second-draft screenplays
from writers who appreciate the inspiration
of a good city background.

We used to run out of beautiful women
who wanted to find spirituality
before they settled down and had a family,
but never before the end of the year.

There was always trouble from the ones
who had a good rapport
with the limo-drivers-turned-hostages.

Somehow it never turned on us. We always knew when
to hit one of those places where the owner
would nod quietly, lock the doors at five a.m.
and let us finish off two or three more drinks
over those old cop shows.

Our luck turned bad all the time,
but it was thankfully always kind of funny.

I don't know what in the hell happened.
It's a complete mystery to me as to when
of us gained forty pounds and stopped
throwing left hooks and asking questions later.

07/07/2010

Author's Note: thanks to the fantastic mr. ricard!

Posted on 07/07/2010
Copyright © 2025 Morgan D Hafele