I throw my best punches
when I’m just about ready
to hand over the idea
that I’m never going to fully rest up
for the big dance that runs from sitcom Friday
to Sunday, bloody Monday.

A lot of old scores suddenly need settling
when you’re finally smart enough
to know exactly what to say to them.

What I’ve learned from strong coffee
and semi-circles in barroom basements
is that shadows don’t need faces, teeth
or strong political opinions.
They get plenty done
just screaming and leaving fifty years worth
of uninsured damage from moving in and out of the walls
that would have had decades left in them under better care.

If only someone had put the paintings
and photographs up just right.

Maybe they’re just fussy.
Maybe they just need pills.

I left the decorating up to my childhood
and every old girlfriend who ever managed to stay
the night and not lose any sleep over the fact
that I leave the TV on until morning.

One of these days
I’m going to kidnap a beautiful psychic from California
and threaten to take off all my clothes until she tells
me who the hell some of these people are.

Particularly troubling are any pictures
where I’m right there in the middle
of someone’s deranged birthday party
in the biggest city to stop existing the moment
I finally get with the program.

Everyone is happy and very well taken care of.
Everyone is raising a glass in each hand to the first floor of the heavens.
And I’m clearly on the verge of the most brilliant thing
I’m ever going to say without fear of consequence.

Someone needs to help me remember
what that might have been. I’m traveling more and more
and becoming increasingly co-dependent in my old age.

It’s not nearly as charming
as the dating services
will have you believe.

10/19/2010

Posted on 10/19/2010
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