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breaking and entering
by Gabriel RicardNothing pushes back like telling your best friend
to write a song about what she thinks
is really going on in that handsome mind of yours.
I’ve never been the subject of a really mean tune.
Something that makes you wanna sacrifice
your aspiring bass player to the trashy,
modern-day bobbysoxers still fighting to be front-row-center.
I’ve never been stripped of the blood
that gets me up those really rough Americana hills.
But I’d like to be. I really think that sometimes.
Love me, leave me and just let me listen
to four simultaneous games of street hockey.
Give me a year to finally win a shootout with the leaves.
Changing colors but never falling off
or crumbling into a mountain of dust
that loves hurricanes more than people.
I’ve seen the world turned upside down
so many times in a five minute span
that it comes to a complete stop on its side.
Wouldn’t be so bad to see that happen again.
Might be the only way I get
to finally wake up
in a familiar place.
It’s not that I think this is all a dream.
Just that it seems like I’m borrowing someone else’s time.
Or it’s just that I’m too dumb
to be out of sorts or truly crazy. We’ll say I’m dumb.
Haven’t really been paying attention
to all those health minutes
about the wonders of good brain health.
Never know how to hold someone
who actually finds safety in my arms.
So, you get why I break into someone’s house
to use their nightlight to get a cigarette going.
I don’t really trust my old ways.
I’m not going to donate money to anything
but a long dinner engagement with taking it easy.
It’d be a lucky dog day of whatever month this is
to just rest until my feet stop throbbing.
But I guess I should keep at it.
Get to the top of this hill,
and find out how much further I need to go.
Or how much further I’m obligated to go.
07/27/2012 Posted on 07/28/2012
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 07/28/12 at 04:53 PM We to Gabe till we see the whites of their greenbacks and then go a little furthur. Nice write. |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 08/02/12 at 03:04 PM My fav line: "I don’t really trust my old ways." But the whole poem speaks to me the value of honesty, openness, freedom and how poetry urges me in all three of those directions. Your poem reminds me of why poetry exists and why poets must fall into its arms to keep on going up that hill. Thanks, Gabe. |
| Posted by Johnny Crimson on 08/03/12 at 11:54 AM sweet. Yes that's my 15yr old comment. "dude, that was sweet." :) |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 08/06/12 at 06:24 PM Totally deranged...and yet at the same time completely lucid. I love it! |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 08/10/12 at 12:14 PM I've never been the subject of a really mean tune, either, Gabriel, but like all of your poems, there is that one line that just puts the brakes on normal reading speed and makes me circle back to it again and again. This, sir, this time, was that line. |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 08/13/12 at 04:07 PM I came to a complete stop on my side; everything made sense. It's those scary moments that makes poetry absurdly addictive... |
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