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world class sucker

by Gabriel Ricard

It’s not that I’m crazy,
so much as I’ve been known to lose
a few years worth of sleep from a long Tuesday night
where you would swing by the house and beg me
to live through everything that’s been on your mind lately.

You wanted the kitchen light on
while I fixed coffee and kept the songs under my breath
to a minimum, but you were always too superstitious to have
any of the other lights on. Exhaustion wasn’t just a matter
for the courts or your eyes to decide. It was in your chewed up fingernails
and the way you laughed every time you changed the subject
without warning.

By my count you were doing that
just about every minute or so. I can appreciate then why you didn’t want
to turn any of those other lights on. There’s only so much a lunatic
can pay attention to. After awhile you become just a little casual
about the desperation that goes into finding anything that will ease the burden.

I listened attentively. The whole time you were there,
I was able to avoid talking about myself. I only smoked four cigarettes,
and I only touched your hand that one time.

Awfully sweet of you to act like you were
too manic to notice. Of course I should have learned my lesson
from that one time you broke my nose and then told everybody
that we were considering a June wedding.

Of course I should also probably stop celebrating
a twenty-five dollar short story cheque with a forty-dollar bar tab.

Then I can get around to knocking off the self-deprecating jokes.
What the hell. When I’m feeling generous I’m feeling generous.
That shtick gets real old, baby old when you’re twenty-five
and already want to smack anyone who thinks you qualify as an aging bachelor.

Either you get angry enough to do something
about the idea that you’re just hanging around to borrow money,
or you just grin, shrug your strong shoulders and buy your weight
in the kind of clown make-up that takes decades of boiling water to remove.

You can’t have it both ways.

There’s a lot I’m going to be doing
in the near future,
and I don’t imagine you’re patient enough
to buy all your bedlam fashions from one of the hundreds
of thousands of stores just up the street.
Nobody wants to raise a family of cats and plants here.
I’ve been packing for a big move out west since 1999.

But you do show up when you need me,
and I have to admit
that I am grateful for that.

I’m pleased that you regard me as very much alive.

02/17/2011

Posted on 02/17/2011
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Joan Serratelli on 02/17/11 at 10:57 PM

I always enjoy your stories

Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 02/19/11 at 06:44 PM

definitely something to be said for being seen as alive. don't know what it is about that first stanza, but it's really something!

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 02/26/11 at 01:03 PM

this finely rendered ode, qualifies as one of my favorites of yours. it is consistent and relevant throughout and one of your finest tales to wag the reader with.

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