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swingtime in malady
by Gabriel RicardSome asshole gets goofy
on kitchen-sink cough syrup,
and throws a chandelier out the fourth-floor window
of the apartment where she took off her dress
in the living room, and spent hours making him say thank you.
His vacation started last Tuesday,
and everyone at work is grateful
that he probably won’t be coming back.
It’s gonna be a long while,
a long while before he engages the miracle
of putting on a clean shirt
or talking someone who’s willing to really exist.
He won’t tell anyone where the chandelier came from.
It’s gonna be a long time
before anyone really gives a good gosh-darn.
Let him go.
Lunatics are as common as spiritual orphans.
There’s fan clubs for their bitter saints.
Support groups for the faithful travelers.
Recovery programs for when you groaned instead of keeping quiet.
Everything’s going to be okay.
The chandelier had seen better parties,
and the girls around here have 1920’s fashion,
with that 1950’s (hush-hush!) decadence
that always took place in the backrooms.
I was there. We didn’t ask for names,
and we didn’t fall for creepy one-liners
that have become hilarious in retrospect.
The 90’s? I was hiding out most of the time.
Communes with plenty of grass to go around.
Korean bakeries with a small room upstairs.
You can’t live to see the world for too long though.
My best friend wasted his best and worst years on that.
He spends his time now carrying around a baseball bat
with eight crosses
(one’s for kissing, general good luck etc)
tied all around it.
He just says over and over again that he’s getting ready
for a job interview in 2014.
His wife hired some outdated noir figure
to live in the constant September rain
and figure out what really happened to him.
The shabby detective came back with twelve phone numbers
from rehabilitated strippers working for the fire department,
and t-shirts from the races that ran him ragged.
That cough syrup must have spread like slow, cautious fire.
It’s not like anyone drinks water.
11/13/2011 Author's Note: why thank you, ms. laura doom (or is there a mr. laura doom? we've never discussed this) for a much, much better title.
Posted on 11/13/2011
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Meghan Helmich on 11/14/11 at 02:29 PM "That cough syrup must have spread like slow, cautious fire." is a terrific line. I don't often hear about cautious fire. Also, there are some definite attempts to branch out in this piece, and I think that taking chances is just what you need. The titles can always come later heh |
| Posted by LK Barrett on 11/14/11 at 04:05 PM As disaffected as your man with the flying chandelier may be, you don't leave him out there alone...good for you. Many of our later-life decisions are based on our being too old to be orphans, spiritual or otherwise. Thank you for holding down your end of the see-saw, Mr. Warmth ...lk |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 11/15/11 at 10:20 PM There may be a variation on an answer to that one within the next few page shifts... |
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