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by Gabriel Ricard

He told me to find religion
in the common-sense solutions
to every hopelessly strange thing
that’s been bothering me recently.

Twenty years and counting
is pretty recent right?

He told me to find religion
in what you finally believe in
when the drinks you soaked your resolve in
during 2003 collide with all those bus routes.

The ones that can’t seem to agree on a mutual city or decade.

He also told me to give up cigarettes.
Or I could just go right ahead and say goodbye
to being kissed by that gorgeous bass player
in that one burlesque rockabilly band.

I could say goodbye to selling my favorite books
to non-smokers who have a notch on the bedroom ceiling
for every nickel they’ve ever saved.

Basically this older gentleman leaned back
in his chair at my Passive Scumbags Anonymous meeting,
sipped the bourbon from his Earl Grey tea and explained
very carefully that even my haircut was a joke
that I could only hope to meet about halfway.

I still don’t know what that means.
I’ve been known to wake up from comas
and suddenly start laughing.

Eventually I can be made to understand
what you’re screaming at me as the elevator
tries a different tactic of crashing straight into the ground
by just going sideways until a skyscraper slows it down.

I’m at a loss for how something like that even happens,
and it’s possible I’ll never know what this guy
was talking about. Sometimes I get my jacket on
and fly out the door on an instrumental delirium
that comes out of nowhere and is really playing hell
and havoc in drooling unison with my heart.

That’s always more appealing
than thinking things through or wondering why
some of my friends change their universe first
and mailing address second without telling me.

I didn’t know what the hell he was going on about,
what his problem was with me,
but I guess there might have been something
weirdly familiar about him.

Anyway
I smashed him in the head with my chair,
declared myself cured to the rest of the group
and caught a lucky break with a long, black taxi cab
that picked me up before he could pull himself from off the floor.

It was a better day for healing
than usual.

02/18/2011

Posted on 02/18/2011
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Bruce W Niedt on 02/20/11 at 03:04 AM

Another riveting narrative - this one reads more as a persona poem than autobiographical, but it really pulled me into the guy's head and the twisted logic contained there. Killer last line, too.

Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 02/24/11 at 02:31 PM

is it wrong that i started laughing at the end? i hope not because it felt right.

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