Monday, October 14, 2013

Pizza Talk and English Beer (A Poem)




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On the eve of a holiday
I cannot fully remember
I came to you
Like a drunkard on the mend,
Stiff in my winter boots,
The smell of front porch
on my hair.
I’m not sure what I expected
But you were two thumbs deep
In some foreign documentary
So we spread cold pizza
And Old English beer between us
And talked sleepy circles
Around mad prophets,
The historical poets of our time
And each syllable you spoke
Felt like the edge of another world
I could cross, except
The alcohol was stealing my thunder
So all I could manage
Was a 2am rant about
The binds this world born us into,
The unjust in our lack of choice,
The wondering eyeball of chance,
And the God in all our words;
How always Saturday night
Would find us waging wars
Against the invisible forces
Of our universe and how
Come Sunday morning
There’s always more questions
Than there are answers.
How, exhausted, we fall asleep
Across the bent in arms of each other,
Aging as we sleep
Like old dogs waiting to die.

7 comments:

  1. The smell of front porch in my hair...oh I love that...

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  2. Smartly skillful; well written.

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  3. Love your poem! I could envision the scene unfolding in front of me!

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  4. And each syllable you spoke
    Felt like the edge of another world
    I could cross, except
    The alcohol was stealing my thunder
    An awesome take thanks!

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  5. It could be that Saturday night is indeed a God ......well done

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