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raspy cheerleaders

by Gabriel Ricard

If I want to play my love life for laughs,
then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

The San Francisco days are what I have
in photographs someone else took,
of a decade I wasn’t exactly alive for.

I might have been. Christ on Lifelong Sale.
Time has never been on my side,
and taking responsibility for my cross-country
phone bill has never been an easy way to relax.

Chicago ran a train,
right out of town,
just for me.

Santa Fe without snow in late-March
would be a complete mystery to me.

You may as well break the celebratory bottle
over my head, marry me off to a model
with ribbons and skulls under her futon
and leave me with spiked punch and hurt feelings
in the goodnight, goodnight capital of North Dakota.

Or was it that town in Florida,
Where I drank beer at nine a.m.
and made a reliable fool of myself?

Who the hell cares?

Someone once paid me
a temporary king’s ransom
to try my hand at giving a damn.
All I did was leave town,
with a suitcase full of batteries and love letters,
I wish she had written me instead.

I try to anticipate
the point in the movie
when things take a turn
for the hero’s early-morning toothless grin
as he waits to be welcomed home.

I wait,
until the moment swipes my reading glasses off,
and then I pretend my idea of running like hell
is just a slow, steady walk into the satisfied future.

The future isn’t sending telegrams,
to be delivered yesterday just yet.
I’ll get there. I’ll walk,
or be carried on the backs of people,
who have inexplicably decided to love me as I am.

I have nothing against either of the Carolinas,
except the weather during June’s second-round revenge,
and the girls, who break things,
and prefer hearts like mine over paper money.

Being happier than me is not a fantastic achievement,
but I’m sure I’ll be okay,
and I guess I’ll go on being a lot more honest
than I get credit for.

Philadelphia is the best place in Philadelphia
for vegetarian Chinese food.

I can’t say much more than that,
so expect to hear about all these things again
very soon.

I’m not creative,
but I’m very, very stubborn.

09/21/2011

Posted on 09/22/2011
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Meghan Helmich on 09/22/11 at 03:54 AM

I want to travel in your suitcase when you roam the country!

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 09/22/11 at 04:40 PM

But where are the cheerleaders??? And I don't care if their underarms are unshaved!!! ;o)

Posted by Joan Serratelli on 09/22/11 at 04:46 PM

You are very creative and probably just as stubborn. I enjoyed being a passenger on your journey. Philly is an AWFUL place, but the food is good.

Posted by Ken Harnisch on 09/22/11 at 07:05 PM

Culling this latest Ricard beach for treasure, I found this gem and stopped looking: "The future isn’t sending telegrams, to be delivered yesterday just yet. I’ll get there. I’ll walk, or be carried on the backs of people, who have inexplicably decided to love me as I am." I found as much gold then as there was to be found, sir

Posted by A. Reed on 09/22/11 at 08:27 PM

Wow, Chris go for the gold huh? Heh. This was indeed a woven lingering roadtrip with little girls for speed bumps.

Posted by Jennifer Truesdale on 09/23/11 at 08:33 PM

i want to write you a love letter so you have one for you to carry on your next mission to find something you thought you lost, but it was somebody else. i really enjoyed this write. i didn't want it to end.

Posted by Joe Cramer on 09/23/11 at 09:04 PM

... excellent.....

Posted by Vikki Owens on 09/25/11 at 03:03 AM

this is absolutely superb. you've tightened up to the essence of things, which makes this incredibly relate-able. excellent

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