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the despicable hall of fame (w/ vince blake)

by Gabriel Ricard

You're not going
to get out of this alive.
There's too many old hunting dogs
digging around the Chinese grocery stores that are so numerous
around here that they make Arlington look desolate.

There's too many war movies being filmed
with cell phones, and there's definitely too many women
with the sixth seal tucked neatly into their purse.

Take my word for it.

there's something acutely disenchanting
about the way these frantic streets intersect
like varicose veins at this town's crooked heart.
i have learned how easy it is to be a pariah
when even the pawn shops boast stained glass windows
depicting every saint who ever died in a drug deal.

the last angel that passed through here
sold his halo to cash 4 gold.

I remember him. He stuttered
whenever he was in the middle of falling in love,
and that could happen anywhere from three
to seven times a day.

Even now
it's impossible to wake up on the roof of a car
going so fast the street signs turn to light show dust
and not remember how he could make you laugh
without really trying.

After a while
you learn how to care for someone for about a year
and then let them go.

You learn how to be a stranger
in a room full of birthday party guests.

I've got twenty bucks to last the rest of the month,
and I also know where that music is coming from.

but i'll see the new year with coins to spare,
because December is for traitors,
and you might be surprised to learn how readily
icy bridges burn.

it's been years since i last wondered
why all these songs sound the same,

and it is becoming increasingly obvious
that no amount of colored plastic strewn from rooftops
will ever bring Christmas to this town
stronger than the neon of an "OPEN" sign
above a liquor store.

every happy memory...
like a picture that came with the frame.
That's a good looking couple
coming off that free picture though, brother.

I'll say that much.

There's no way in hell
they're from around here. The women
around here are smart, and some of them
even got rich on their backs. But no one
can look that innocent without having
a brick and some handcuffs in their purse.

Those 18th century boys on Winston Blvd.
would eat her alive.

Christmas?

Jesus Jackrabbit Christ, man,
don't even get me started on Christmas.

Nuclear winter just wrapped up last week.
Left on the same day when the circus did.


12/15/2010

Author's Note: Written with the endlessly talented tap-dancing legend, Mr. Vince Blake. It never stops being a hell of a night on the town with him. Consider this a spiritual sequel to our last one, and you can also expect one more in the set. I like a good trilogy as much as the next man.

Posted on 12/15/2010
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Joe Cramer on 12/16/10 at 03:56 PM

... outstanding.....

Posted by Nadia Gilbert Kent on 12/17/10 at 08:06 PM

Really enjoyed this. You guys should write short stories together.

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