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helluvatownokeydokey?

by Gabriel Ricard

I don’t mind that the flask in your purse
has started more fires than a lightning storm
that knows which church the sinners are dancing in.

I don’t mind that you’ve died
enough times to qualify for a comic book.

Why I don’t even mind that high school guys
always fall in love with you, buy a one-way Greyhound ticket
and leave all their money on the kitchen table.

Dozens of obsessive ghost stories are coming soon,
and I don’t even need the hand motions that usually
follow a difficult act of forgiveness. It won’t take
three shots in the living room or clouds knocking airplanes
out of the sky to be able to leave the door unlocked
when you’re stuck treating my neighborhood
like a memory that’s turned violent on you.

Actually it’s a lucky thing,
marginally beautiful if you can keep your eyes open
that you’ve been seen around town lately.

I haven’t even been in the area. There were a thousand
unfocused riots between that southern Motel
at the edge of town and one of those towns in Colorado
where history constantly screws with the summertime.

It took forever, but I finally picked up enough
guilt to avoid sleeping long enough to see them all.

I didn’t get much down on paper,
and my camera took too many pictures
of people and cars who had no business following me,
but I think it’ll all more or less stay upstairs.

There’s all these new stories I can’t share
because the work hour apparently goes from nine
in the morning to eight-fifty-nine in the morning,
and people are learning to pack everything else
into the spare Los Angeles minute.

At this point I don’t even really see people.
It’s just a lot of fast voices and faces that only exist
on the morning news traffic cam.

That can be mighty depressing
to someone who wishes it was either 1922
or 1975. It makes me think of how many times
you wouldn’t let me leave unless I sat on your porch
and called to put you to sleep with a couple of stories
from the old days.

I’ve missed that.
Lately I’ve probably missed it too much,
although I’m mostly smart enough to know
that I can still exist if there’s no one around to hear me.

Mostly.
Some nights are tougher than others.


07/15/2010

Posted on 07/15/2010
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 07/15/10 at 08:52 PM

A hella good poem, with many things to like, and seems to indicate (imho) that the narrator has a somewhat captive audience...listen to it all. Kept me in place while reading. Delighted. Thanks.

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 07/16/10 at 12:31 PM

Man, can I just say, that I just love your unconventional approach to art, to your way of telling a thing. It is as reinvigorating to my senses as a cuppa' joe.

Posted by Laurie Blum on 07/22/10 at 12:17 PM

I am always so entertained by your writing Gabe! I honestly thought okeydokey was spelled okie dokie all these years!

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