Home

beneath the oaks (w/ johnny crimson)

by Gabriel Ricard

-I don't want to sound cruel,
but I've seen better productions of King Lear
in taxi cabs where the addicts have nothing to lose
but the words to their favorite song.

These were the digital eyelid
imprints of a ten-second release
and she keeps a counter for every
fucked faint intrusion.

-But I guess you learn to live with what
when you give children guns, cough syrup
and a list of every bloodthirsty lawyer in New Orleans.
I guess you learn to live with trading in sincere Catholic candles
for sympathetic ears under long raven hair and a lot of bad ideas.

Trading pixie sticks for blow
and squeezing whatever begs for it
under the dim neon light pouring from the church windows,
they caught an EVP of the sucking sounds and the loose change in his pocket.

-It's not as bad as it sounds though. In the end it's just a lot
of weird music from the glory days. You just have to keep your head down
and spend as little time as possible wondering why there's more
fast food restaurants along the Armageddon boulevard than anywhere
else in town. Don't stick your hands out the window when you're best friend
gets desperate and guns the car up to a hundred and eighty.

Plead with us in the backseat
as the brain matter tickles her freckled jaw.
Let us teach you the meaning of eating your nerves.
This is the discontent of a generation,
the fever goes up and we leave the thermometer inside you.

-They take good care of you when you're sick,
but lots of luck finding smooth hands to bless what's left
of you when you're too old to get to the top floor
and finally get the welcome home party you deserve.

We bathe in the unforgiving cake mix
of a hot-glue pasted surprise.
These are merely remnants of what actually happened to you,
the proof has been lost in the tides of Hunter Lake,
yet her skirt still rests atop the flagpole.
With mission complete and cigarette packs in our t-shirts
we flip leather jackets over our shoulders and whistle the walk to school.

-Sometimes there’s too many people wandering around
in bathrobes looking for their loved ones,
so I hitch the first moderately dangerous ride to come along,
use my cell phone as collateral and assume payday
will be in the mailbox by the end of the afternoon.

Shaking tiny slides in front of the light
and bending the plastic between my fingers
I remembered how flexible you once were.
What we did to you was fine and believe me the credit is shared,
but I can't get the image of you winking me over
to your corner of the boys and girls club out of my mind.

10/27/2010

Author's Note: My five stanzas are indicated with an "-". Mr. Crimson is clearly the star of the show here. I consider it pure luck that I was able to keep up, and I'm grateful he gave me the opportunity to do so.

Posted on 10/27/2010
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Anita Mac on 10/28/10 at 03:36 AM

You two make a great team. You each definitely have styles that are complete complementary to the other's. Well done, no surprise.

Posted by Johnny Crimson on 10/28/10 at 05:27 PM

In taxi cabs where the addicts have nothing to lose,and she keeps a counter for everyone along with a list of every bloodthirsty lawyer in New Orleans. I guess you learn to live with trading in sincere Catholic candles under the dim neon light pouring from the church windows,and spend as little time as possible wondering why there's more. Let us teach you the meaning of eating your nerves when you're too old to get to the top floor. These are merely remnants of what actually happened to you and we hitched the first moderately dangerous ride to come along. And then I remembered how flexible you once were.

Posted by June Labyzon on 12/01/10 at 02:03 PM

You got me with the mention of my beloved New Orleans, smiled as I remembered all the crooked lawyers I know...I am working on spoken word with my high school poetry workshop students, may I use this as an example? Love this piece..."we bathe in the unforgiving cake mix of a hot glue pasted surprise." Wow, that line resonanted with me....love it!

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)