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green onions
by Artur DesruisseauxI used to like to go to this restaurant
when I was a young man
I was alone
on a Friday night
always alone
everyone in that place had blue hair
and smoked long, long, cigarettes
on the wall were norman rockwell paintings or drawings
whatever you fucking call them
I used to sit in the back next to the window
they had liver and onions
it was a managers special
for $3.95
but I never ordered it
everyone in those paintings
seemed fake
like propped up dummies
I would order coffee and pie
and smoke long long cigarettes
reading my books
those books were really great
like Nathaniel west,
poor little nathaniel west
much better than most of the people
I have met on this planet
anyway, each week I would tip more and more
I would order a slice of lemon meringue pie and some coffee
$6 or $7 or $10 dollars tip
for a $4 bill
I was famous in that restaurant
pretty soon I never had to wait
there was always a slice of pie and a ashtray waiting for me
there was also butter and mints and toothpicks
but I never needed any of that
no 11/10/2012 Posted on 11/10/2012
Copyright © 2024 Artur Desruisseaux
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 11/10/12 at 01:41 PM I never cared much for Norman Rockwell, given the fact he did not draw his characters freehand, but used a projector to project a ready made photo of posed characters onto his canvases, but more than that I took exception to the fact that his brushwork appeared too tight for my licking, whereas I prefer my brushing loose, which I believe this ode does, an ode which is no projection to me, but is seeming to be an honest to goodness and loose as a goose brushing with life experience. |
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