Friday, July 18, 2008

what have we done?... what we have yet to do

chris' illustration for wednesday's poem, untitled.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008


I stepped out of the way,
inflated my gut
and receded my hairline.
I screwed the bottle cap tight, stubbed out the Camels,
and licked clean the credit card edges.
I pulled down a second chin,
and grew the hair on my ears.
The song would be throated by others.
But ten years on, still I hear nothing.
Just white noise on bleached corporate frequencies,
and some hot and hollow static behind the ivy,
pointless circles around some summer tree,
a sun dial that tells no time.
It was always meant to be us, she said,
pulling on her knee high leather boots,
didn’t you realize?
You were fooled by the tides.
You stitched up your eyelids like the glossies suggested,
your fingers groping
for nine-dollar cigars, sky dives over Tahoe,
and deep sea fishing off the coast of Florida.
OK, OK, back we go.
Into the fray, near middle-aged monsters,
dry and hoarse and shod in orthopedic comfort.
Armed with a rusty lighter and broken pen.
If only I could find them
beneath the dish towels and take-out menus.
How could we have let this happen?