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spirits, greeting cards, and love

by Gabriel Ricard

He’s a doctor who jinxed himself right out of the job market.

He’s so whacked out,
you have no idea, no clue,
on the quickest path to the throne of clarity
and dumbstruck inner peace.

January 28th is still a bone yard at the bottom of an old well,
so someone out there might forgive him for believing
it’s still Christmas.

Someone would sigh, hook their arm in his,
and use the strength of a stronger pulse
shaking a weaker one by the shoulders
to lead him right back out those automatic doors.

But no one’s around. Every last member of his family
is kicking around in a hometown about the size
of a useless backyard in Queens, New York.

They’re out of town. A car accident has a funny way
of making you forget things like changing a filthy shirt,
paying any attention to the lights on the house ever again,
or opening the Netflix envelopes on the floor.

Smartphone goes dead, stays dead.
Something is playing the piano in the walls at 3 AM.
The oceans move and moan on a map of the world.

He would tear it right off the wall,
but he just doesn’t have the time.

The fever has been a thousand and one for a month now,
and not a single field trip to Spirits, Greeting Cards and Love
is going to change that.

It’s pretty much been about the spirits part.
The flesh looks like someone’s been screwing around
with the settings on a high-definition security camera.

You can see the future of the that's galaxy exploding in his head
all over his arms, and all around the eyes
of a newborn gentle idiot.

And thank goodness it’s still winter,
or the front lawn would be totally unmanageable.

And the young folk working at the toy store
are waiting for the shotgun blast from corporate
every single day, every single working hour.

So they humor him for completely selfish reasons.







02/04/2013

Posted on 02/05/2013
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Elizabeth Shaw on 02/05/13 at 08:16 PM

I for one love this idiot poem of yours, and the idiot in the poem - have been him and seen him and know the lights intimately - you have captured them well my friend. Bravo to you.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 02/06/13 at 03:50 AM

Thoroughly enjoyable. One might think you would run out of terrific line after terrific line, yet you do not. Perhaps I shall dub you "enigma". Thanks for this.

Posted by Joan Serratelli on 02/06/13 at 04:30 PM

You are quite unique. You seem to have no limits to your writing. You have a wonderous gift and I'm happy you are willing to share it.

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 02/06/13 at 08:39 PM

Excellent buildup to a mind blowing ending, Gab.

Posted by Ken Harnisch on 02/06/13 at 09:41 PM

Looking out at my useless backyard (useless in winter, that is) here in Queens, I can still smile and enjoy the hell outta this poem!

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