my assumptions and my war stories by Gabriel RicardIt could have happened.
It might have worked out that way.
It’s not that I never tricked everyone
into thinking I was courageous.
It’s not that the tides of a mind ready
to make a terrible mistake didn’t rise
so often that people stopped building
ugly houses on the beach.
You can only do so much.
Six nights a week as a sawed-off career criminal,
something that’s going to make you feel outlandish later,
and then you take a day off to exaggerate the details.
Talk all through the night to new faces
that wobble and pretend to melt
under whatever eerie glow the downtown
has thrown up and around everything.
Keep those Christmas light hopes alive,
but I prefer to see all the neon and bright, spooked windows,
and heavy smokers sparking up as soon as they get outside,
from the backseat of a car that’s trying to beat the time.
I was late for all kinds of juvenile social engagements.
I’ve since learned how to be on time
for crowded schizophrenic accidents,
and the secret of my success is that I’m not very successful at all.
Never was,
and anyone who thinks otherwise
was passed out on the hood of their love life’s car at the time.
Or those drugs in the candy bowl had them living
in some kind of spaghetti western.
I was so sure something remarkable
was going to come out of all that stuff.
And don’t tell anyone I let you in on all this.
I can’t have people knowing that summer
plays havoc with my assumptions and my war stories.
04/13/2013 Posted on 04/13/2013 Copyright © 2025 Gabriel Ricard
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Ken Harnisch on 04/13/13 at 10:31 PM I am so wanting summer to play havoc with mine, having endured and hated this winter. Another fine Ricard, but I'm being redundant, aren't I? |
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 04/14/13 at 01:00 PM Quite thr wry read Gabriel. Glad I checked it out. |
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