Apparently I post everything these days. The first one is a story-poem I made up for Jenny when she challenged me to use the word "municipal." The second two sound angry, but they're not actually aimed at anyone. I promise.
Bar Fight
People constantly compare him to Steven Segal
Because he's fat and has a ponytail.
At eighteen Rick joined the marines.
But he didn't really fit in
With the hard drinking tough guys
So he never re-enlisted. His GI bill
Was wasted
On community college
Accounting classes
That he only attended briefly.
Rick never misses the Presbyterian Singles' dance
Held bi-monthly at the municipal building downtown.
He only dances if someone brings their daughter
Perches her feet on his loafers and waltzes in time to an Abba song.
At 36 and four days
He bet a guy down the bar twenty dollars
That the 'Skins would "whoop" the Packers.
When the score was 28 to three
The bald widower began to gloat.
Rick called him a jackass and
Ended up on the ground, his barstool tipped over
In a pile of broken glass. The manager on duty
Yells that he's on the phone with the cops
As Rick slips out the door
Wondering where he'll watch the fourth quarter.
We're completely cool
you and I - me and you.
there's nothing there anymore
you're a ghost
a fading memory
translucent film
the sharpied X on your hand
you can barely make out
the next day after you've showered.
I don't quite recall what we fought about
how it felt when our eyes met
or the fissure that opened
in my chest when you broke the news
like someone just told me
I was dying
or I'd discovered that
the world wasn't round.
I'm no longer a conductor for our spark
not a semi-conductor
I insulate.
when I'm awake at night you're not the cause
it's heartburn
or stress from work
or maybe some other girl.
and that guy you knew isn't here
I pawned him and lost the claim ticket.
he joined the french foreign legion.
the guy left here doesn't care about the past
doesn't wonder what if
doesn't shed a single tear.
he's alzheimer's
he's amnesia
he's empty.
this isn't good-bye
it's a shrug.
Does your hate keep you warm at night?
Does your bitterness tuck you in?
Does reliving every detail
Of every time you've been wronged
Erase a scar, negate a single tear?
Is your anger justified?
Did the world give you plenty of reasons
To take up your cross
Nail your arms to its timbers
On a hilltop for all to see.
Does your pain make the world spin faster?
Does it keep the days from blending into one?
Does it give you at least one thing you can count on
One set of beliefs that won't prove false?
If you grip a bit tighter
Will it scream back at you?
Will it beg you to let go, to go easy
As you smirk and increase the pressure?
Does your fear make you who you are?
'Cause it doesn't do a whole lot for me.
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