In the bathroom of the lobby
of a building that can slip back in time
when it needs a few lost souls to shut up and disappear,
he combs his hair just like in a song from better days.

He shoos away a fly
that’s had more birthdays than two dead Presidents
fighting to get through the doorway of a barbaric plastic surgeon.

Defiant to the end,
he swings bloody, doomed punches like they’re a couple of axes
with opportunities to go wherever they please.

He does this every time he stumbles
Because he’s been staring into the mirror too hard.

This is the best place in town to go to bed.
This is paradise for getting to the right floor.
Gotta dodge the cat who just wants to see someone
crash all the way back down to the bottom.
Find the keys inside a jacket that’s not his,
and get inside to praise how his poisonous judgment
and dishonest heart will keep the lights on
for a whole extra week.

Live here,
and it’s beautifully possible to open the door,
walk inside, and find someone in his bed,
who is only going to put up with him
until she finds another place to shack up.

A few years of legitimate education,
and a lot of years of education in the fringe sector
is what’s brought him here.

And he loves it. A good place to live,
and he would be honored to find out
that it’s also a good place to die.

And it’s a long march up all those unsteady stairs.

And he’s going to sing the same three lines from
that Jerry Lee Lewis song until he gets to the top.

And he’s going to throw coins at random
to all the believers and abstract lost causes
that make up that gang of starving Kindergarten con artists.

And he’s going to stay awake for fear of missing out
on even a second of glorious possibility.

11/18/2012

Posted on 11/19/2012
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard