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the party slows, doesn't stop

by Gabriel Ricard

I’d love to join this marathon
of everyday weirdoes running like hell
to God-knows-where for what I understand
is a vacation for the spirit.

They come through this park
all the time. I usually catch them when I’m reading quietly,
yelling obscenities at the horse-drawn carriages
or just proposing to the latest pretty girl who has managed
to put up with me for two hellish weeks.

It just seems stupid. They should have hit paradise
ages ago. Instead they just fly past the bench
where I sit for a couple hours each day
and pretend to be lost in deep, endlessly profound thought.

Someone told me once
that it’s a great way to meet women.

I haven’t figured out yet if that’s true,
but I’m pretty good at looking intelligent,
so I’ve stuck with it.

No one wants to let me know where I stand.
My friends change the subject every time
and remind me that no one else can fall
down twenty flights of stairs and live
quite like I can.

I guess it’s nice to be needed.
I guess it’s good to be proficient at something.

Truthfully
I always wanted to be a so-so dancer,
a quick-witted drinker and a character actor
with a resume in need of a spacious storage locker.

I once imagined faith would be an easy come, easy stay
kind of thing, and that getting tired
would never be anything less
than a personal decision.

All kinds of plans have been moved
from one part of the table to the other.

Some are on another table
in a completely different room.

A few others are so far away
that I think I must have traded them in
at some point and forgotten about it.

Dreams become songs
that catch me off-guard and leave me
looking not terribly profound after all.

I should join those idiots in the park.

Maybe I will next Tuesday.
I just have to set my drink down,
put out my cigarette and smile like someone
who won’t settle for anything less
than all the time in the world, five bucks for cab fare
and a little more time after that.

Let’s make it
next Wednesday instead.

Or let’s just not put a specific
date on it at all. I’m good with any of those.






07/04/2011

Posted on 07/04/2011
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 07/05/11 at 12:27 AM

The whole thing brought a big smile to my face. This part especially adds a new meaning to that old expression, "rolling with the punches." : no one else can fall down twenty flights of stairs and live quite like I can.

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