Saturday, August 16, 2008

Anxiety had me up early... but I watched the sun land on her face. And optimism slowly crept up, and took hold. So I laid back down.

I miss you.

It’s pretty much
as simple as that.

And I think I miss you
the most when I head
out into the city.

I walk around with my friends,
and we pass the time and walking
with small talk and the illusion
of being sixteen years old again.

We watch the light traffic
work on its stuttering problem,
and I think that it’s been trying
to tell me the same thing
for the last seven years.

We go to the mall in time
for them to mow down the book store
and put up another urban shoe place.

We go to the movies,
pay ten dollars at ticket,
and complain about the way
there’s nothing good out anymore.

We go to Wal-Mart
to try and beat our time
for getting kicked out,
and I watch people spending
money they still don’t have.

We go out to dinner
at one of the three hundred
thousand chain restaurants
that are available in the area,
because the local places
went out of business in the late 90’s.

And I listen to people talk,
and I listen to my friends talk,
and I listen to the news that somehow
manages to howl in spite of the mute
button running the show.

I listen to everyone talking about
taxes, college, a new car, money,
other people’s children, music,
money, war, money, music, God,
war, sports, sex, money, sex, films,
sex, war, money, racist jokes, money.

I listen,
still manage to talk a lot,
and think about how I’ve been tired
of all this for a very long time.

And anyway,
even when I’m right there,
babbling on with the rest of them,
I’m actually about three thousand
miles away.

I’m in California,
or wherever you want to live,
and I’m getting ready for bed.

And I’m thinking about
something you did earlier
that really pissed me off,
but I have to admit that
it’s not really bothering
me all that much anymore.

I’m just glad that it’s really
easy to drift off to the way
you fall asleep long before I do.

You’d be amazed at how much
good you can get out of the sound
of long, steady breaths.

I think about that.
I think about not knowing
when I’m going to see you again.

That’s when someone usually
asks me if everything’s okay.

And I kinda smile,
unless I’m in the mood for self-pity,
turning forty-seven in 2012.

The usual things I do
to keep myself amused.

I smile helplessly
and start making fun
of someone’s stupid haircut.

Meanwhile,
I still miss you,
and I’m still depressed
by the fact that I’m really
no better than anyone else.

5:30, california time by Gabriel Ricard

1 comment:

court said...

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