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searching chorale
by Gabriel RicardIf I’m going to be guilty of anything,
then let’s make sure it’s something
where the photos the bystanders took
are almost as much fun as the act itself.
You’ll have to be the one
who has to look into
how we can make that happen.
Lately I’ve just been useless.
Hollywood is no longer calling.
I’m a smoker who would just as soon
not look in any mirrors. My soundtrack is limited,
and I only once caught a Taxi by grabbing the door handle
as it tried to pass me by.
Don’t ask me how that actually worked out.
My faith wavers every day, and there’s a union
of fortune tellers all the way to Portland that have
a lot of money on the odds that I won’t make it to thirty-five.
I don’t know what the hell they’re so excited about.
My risks are pretty minimal these days. All I ever really fear
anymore is severe social embarrassment, cancer,
losing my family before my time, being alone for sixty years,
gunfire, the possibility that God is just rowing his boat
gently down the stream.
It’s not like I’m afraid of airplanes, rats
or never growing up.
That’s just crazy,
and I’m weird enough as it is
without being my own 1930’s public relations man
for a crowd that already knows the stage directions by heart.
I only have but so much sense to go around,
and it can’t be wasted on spiritual fulfillment anymore.
It’s like using your fingernails to escape from Shawshank.
I bite my nails down to the elbow
and haven’t trusted my own skin in ages.
12/06/2010 Posted on 12/06/2010
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Nadia Gilbert Kent on 12/07/10 at 07:02 AM This is very poignant. Speaking as a native Hollywoodian, I can assure you that you've probably gotten more out of thinking about coming here than you actually would have by moving at all. The drive and desire is usually a lot more compelling than the reality of what it means to breathe in LA. Either way though, I really like this, and I like how you write about these things. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/08/10 at 01:53 AM I don't know how you come up with endless phrases that rock me, make me laugh, make me relate, think surreal is real; thanks for that. |
| Posted by Meghan Helmich on 12/09/10 at 02:37 PM God is surely rowing his boat gently down the stream. It's a damn shame, I say. |
| Posted by Scott Utley on 12/10/10 at 12:35 AM You speak, brilliantly, for the every-man. |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 12/14/10 at 07:21 PM Every mundane activity is an opportunity for full, authentic self-exploration. But the soul is our artistic self, our capacity for transforming every dimension of our lives into art and theater. I dunno, I think your on the right road, and as always the question lurks....where to go from here. Excellent write, much enjoyed this. Thanks.
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| Posted by Meghan Helmich on 09/01/11 at 08:23 AM You won't be alone for 60 years. Not with word mastery like this... |
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