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baby, you got a real sick mentality

by Gabriel Ricard

Paranoia is realizing
that you’re the only one at the birthday party
who isn’t a doctor,
and then wondering what each of them
might be thinking of you.

I limp,
talk to myself,
add a little more rum to the punch,
cough when I need a cigarette
and fall asleep every time someone tells me
that I’ll be working for their infant son someday.

They could put me away with all that,
and there’s enough of them for me to know
that could happen if I grab the wrong wife’s ass.

Could be for the best.
You know you done screwed up,
when you have to hire a young girl to follow you around
and tell you what you did wrong every morning at 5:15.

And then I’d have to be careful about who I employ.

Last thing I need,
is some kid telling me that I’m living in the past,
and that things are better now than they were twenty years ago.

Shameful or whatever that I don’t really know if that’s true.
I’m scared of hospitals,
and I only ever watch the news
when an upcoming appointment goes missing.

Reading fiction seems to cover everything else,
and I have plenty of friends who balance
keeping me informed with getting over their addiction
to pathological lying.

This is called a compromise.
It’s like settling for finding shelter under a cancerous tree
after the lightning starts to follow you like a cheery bloodhound.

If I turn out to be wrong about something
I can still meet someone who can teach me how to play chess,
and how to play a piano that’s been busted up.
Shipped to more countries than there are winos
making a living by getting people to pay them
not to spray-paint erotica on the sidewalks.

That’s a lot of drunk people with high-school diplomas.

I’ll bet they were just like me, not too long ago.
Probably went to pot when they hit one of those parties
with all those smug doctors and kittenish wives.

Paranoia tells me this,
and it doesn’t even have a voice worth remembering.

You would think otherwise.

03/10/2012

Posted on 03/10/2012
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Jody Pratt on 03/10/12 at 06:30 PM

Another interesting read from you Gabriel. :)

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/10/12 at 09:00 PM

The whole poem drips with paranoia, but quite subtly, with lots of dry humour and intelligence.

Posted by Jennifer Truesdale on 03/11/12 at 12:27 AM

hahaha i love this. punchy paranoia and sarcastic overtones. i couldn't ignore it... had to comment. good write!

Posted by Steve Michaels on 03/11/12 at 05:41 AM

I’ll bet they were just like me, not too long ago. Probably went to pot when they hit one of those parties with all those smug doctors and kittenish wives. Ugh, soml! Nice write!

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 03/11/12 at 12:31 PM

the funny thing about stuff is that it leaves it up to you to concoct it any way you wish, any shape or size, and this is another prize stuffing of yours and so what is to conclude from this, but you keep writing, concocting this remarkable stuff and I'll keep taking it all in.

Posted by Vikki Owens on 03/11/12 at 03:47 PM

yeah, i think they could lock us in the same cell with matching straight jackets. twinsies!! nice write.

Posted by V. Blake on 03/12/12 at 05:59 PM

I know this feeling well. Always request the drink menu in advance of the party. You can usually tell which ones you should attend with that in hand.

Posted by Dan Linn on 03/14/12 at 07:02 PM

OK, I see myself in every word of this. I am punch drunk on it. These are incapacitating blows. Way to kick a man when he's down.

Posted by Lori Blair on 03/17/12 at 12:51 AM

amazingly written..because..what more could I say to this friend? Excellent indeed!!!

Posted by Ken Harnisch on 03/23/12 at 10:02 AM

Just because you believe everyone is after you doesn't make it untrue...:) PS: I was the guy hovering around the punchbowl at this soiree!And delighted to see you there, Gabriel..:)

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