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an hour on earth

by Gabriel Ricard

It makes no difference to me
that you’ve quit drinking,
dyed your hair black and donated
a thousand hours for each missing person
to one of those new churches on Wild Bill Boulevard.

I know all about those places
that are supposedly one-third Southern Baptist,
one-third doomsday Catholic and one-third
Hallucinogenic Monster Mash.

Not my kind of wayward scene.
Give me a fair shake of your lamb’s tail,
and I’ll just wait until some sixteen year-old
guns the task at hand to ninety in the parking lot
before I have a chance to jump out of the way.

That’s when I’m planning to say I’m sorry
for anything and everything I’ve ever said
or done to you or anyone else who wants to get
into an orderly line.

Because let’s face it,
this isn’t entirely about you.

I realize that’s a delusion you entertain
as frequently as having a new face every night
to drive you to the hospital after you break off
twelve sharp fingernails in the poor bastard’s eyes.

It’s fine with me if you want to put on
your best funeral dress, your finest dancing heels
and act surprised
when you walk into the room and become
the tragic center of attention.

Whatever makes you happy enough.
Whatever feels just right going across
the part of your back where the train took those wings away
and never bothered to get your address to return them in due time.

Just don’t count on my support. Don’t ask me to fold my hands
neatly in my lap and sit perfectly still as the tour descends
from twenty thousand feet to four and a half inches.

I’m not going to slow down. I’m not going to take
very good care of myself.

And I promise to never ask you
for anything ever again.

Extending me the same courtesy is only fair.

There’s more than enough hotels to go around.
We don’t have to get our medications from the same shady furniture store.

Eventually we can think about acting like
running into each other was from the design of a screenwriter
long on courage and short on common sense. We can even pretend
to be grown-ups.

But I think it’s best if we wait another sixty years to try.
We don’t want a slim-to-none repeat of what happened last time.

01/10/2011

Posted on 01/10/2011
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by E. A. Pugh on 01/10/11 at 07:12 PM

You captured the heart of the lap dancer and the the subject of heels. This is where your write entered the often sung “I promise to never ask you for anything ever again. 

Extending me the same courtesy is only fair” I could think of many well known songs with the same promise of nothing for that $#%@ or purl wearing woman girl, just disrespectful on all sides. The man in the tale “ every night
to drive you to the hospitable” then these words rock and shock “after you break off
twelve sharp fingernails in the poor bastard’s eyes. Nice, very interesting voice of a “slim-to-none repeat of what happened last time” relationship.

Posted by Charlie Morgan on 01/11/11 at 12:10 AM

..your notes. that's all i need is your notes...it's like a whoops[section] on dirt track...a ride of its own.

Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 01/11/11 at 01:13 PM

but the courtesy is rarely returned... at least in my experience. haha

Posted by Scott Utley on 01/12/11 at 02:00 AM

"I know all about those places that are supposedly one-third Southern Baptist, one-third doomsday Catholic and one-third Hallucinogenic Monster Mash." And I laughed and I laughed and I laughed and I love it! I love it!

Posted by Tony Whitaker on 01/14/11 at 08:33 AM

Man, you can really dig out a trip! I just love your styff dude! Where do you get all these ideas?? Anothetr Brilliant one for me fave bin!

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 01/15/11 at 02:04 AM

Excellent expression and imagery throughout Gabriel. If I ever get rich enough to travel to the States, I'll definitely want to check out Wild Bill Boulevard. I especially like how one hour extends to sixty years in a single page of writing.

Posted by Jody Pratt on 01/16/11 at 04:48 AM

Brilliant, Outstanding, Vivid, Memorable... it's poems like this that make it hard to give other poems the same rating. I especially like the stanza about the funeral dress.

Posted by Laurie Blum on 01/16/11 at 05:08 PM

Another stellar piece that reminds me why I love to read the wildly unique Mr. Ricard! Great work here.

Posted by W. Mahlon Purdin on 01/22/11 at 02:13 PM

I love this stanza: It’s fine with me if you want to put on your best funeral dress, your finest dancing heels and act surprised when you walk into the room and become the tragic center of attention. ...and the whole poem was really rewarding and honest, raw in the right ways, alive, humorous subtleties with just-the-right tone. Makes me want to dive into the rest of your library.

Posted by Andrea Colton on 01/29/11 at 07:43 PM

This is like a short story almost. The scene you create and your attention to detail is just awesome. Great way to describe a roller coaster, semi-psychotic relationship...I've had plenty of those lol

Posted by Meghan Helmich on 12/02/11 at 09:00 PM

I think this is in my top 3 favorites of yours.

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