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by Gabriel Ricard

Impatience makes your knees hurt,
makes you feel like you’re sticking out your gut
on purpose. Everyone else in line is polite,
extraordinary in how they don’t talk about
how people like you should opt for delivery instead.

Sigh. Two steps forward. Apologize as quickly as possible
for any accidental eye contact.

Envy teenagers who stumble a little,
talk clearly,
and think they’ve got the world completely fooled.

Sigh. Two steps forward. Order something the gut
isn’t trained for at 7 in the morning.

She’s not in Hollywood,
and probably not across the street through coincidence,
but any other destination nation is way too goddamn possible.

Sigh. One step to the side. Everything has been paid for,
and everyone is going to let you pass without harm.

Fifteen dollars.
Christ.
Fifteen bucks for the romance of filthy walls,
cooking smells that would turn the place into paradise
during a snowstorm,
and people with children who noticed
the lack of fire exits way before they did.

Don’t sigh. Make it back to the choppy,
unfriendly, concrete waters down the block.

Eat. Smoke. Sleep. Dream. Dream of fast cars with people
who are sick of the way you can’t get to them.

Compare notes from the last time the two of you
celebrated Thursday by breathing quickly
and grabbing handfuls of each other’s hair,
to the moment when the dreams shift into
something so determined to keep you helpless,
you fall off the couch.

Sleep. Dream.
Piss off your fifth best friend’s eighth roommate
in as many months.

08/15/2013

Posted on 08/16/2013
Copyright © 2021 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 08/20/13 at 12:56 PM

your usual garden of earthly delights and how can one not be completely sold on this line ----grabbing a handful of each others hair? not to mention the other -----dreams shift in which something so determined to keep you helpless, you fall off the couch. lord knows, I've run into a few of those.

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