Bad Night for Poetry

Bad Night for Poetry

I

She’s speaking emotionally about culture and yellow flowers. I’m drinking whiskey shots in between my beers. There’s a puffy white dog with brown stains around his eyes wandering the bar begging for pretzels and fried cheese. We have named him Freeloader. He’s like cancer; nobody’s sure where he comes from, and nobody’s figured out how to make him leave. As she continues on about the colors that her favorite song makes her think of, I wish I would hurry up and get drunk. If I am going to act like an a*s tonight, I must have a good excuse for it in the morning.

II

I am writing apocalyptic haiku on the raw wooden floor with pastel chalks. My Chinese symbols look more like poorly drawn shacks that might collapse against the mildest puff of wind. That thought is more poetic than any of the flowery spiritual waste I have vomited up since she started remodeling my psyche. I look up at her tears, and they make me wonder if God has a plan B for my life. Freeloader tells me that I should just follow her out to the car, and look as pitiful as I can. He has been fed and sheltered many times using that very method.

III

On the way home we see cops beating a man with sticks on the sidewalk. I ask her if she thinks I should be beaten, but she just keeps talking about her new shoes and what kind of hair products work best in the summertime. I pat my belly to make sure I’m still here, then, pinch myself to see if I’m dreaming. I am left to wonder which one of us is the ghost. I hope it’s me, because I don’t think it’s safe for spirits to drive cars. Suddenly, I am extremely hungry for steak tacos. I wonder if jumping from the car at this speed would kill me.

Author's Note

Before the offers for prayer and therapy recomendations start....Let me say that I'm not the main character in this poem. ;) Cheers!

Reviews

[V.B.]

This is phenomenal. I feel like you've written the story of my life nine times over, and in better words than I could ever have hoped to put it myself. I do like to pick a favorite line when I review poems, but taking any one of these way from the rest would seem unfair and pointless. My favorite line was the whole thing, start to finish.

I was there with you for the whole thing. The imagery is perfect, the similes were original and awesome, and I don't even have a word for the metaphors. Sir, I am envious of your talent, and of pretty much everything you wrote here. Thank you for this.

[Amy Bumpas]

Well, I think the man wants to die in his mixed up, chaotic
world. I think we all have those days LOL! It's always fun to see
what kind of characters you can come up with;).

[Jūdan FyreHeart]

The calm surreal feel about this one was great. Watching yourself from afar.

[Kerry O'Connor]

Hahaha @ Author's Note

And the laughter continued through the triptych - this is one of your best, or perhaps I'm in a mood... anyway... it bore right through me like a termite to the heart of the wood.

[Misty Blue Eyes]

this is one out right scary poem.. so real i love it hun