Tuesday, March 22, 2011

They are mostly gone. 1 & 2.


Some television with knobs
sits in the corner and protects me
from the poodle that is going to attack while
I dig my nails into a carpet that runs
under a wall and into a house where
decide I need pink chalk bullshit medicine for my tummy
and the oozy insides of some long prickly leaf to dull the burn on my skin from being outside
chasing cars
little girls in skirts
and this boy who has a toy I want
and a nest of wasps that some poor kid would die from fucking with in the movies.

Don't make fucking eye contact with the poodle.

Steal the soap from under the sink and pour it into the gas tank of my lawnmower
cuz we all need some goddamn bubbles
and that girl in the blue skirt will only look at me then.

Blonde hair.
Big grin.
Boy muscles.
Pushes that lawnmower so fast the bubbles don't even fucking show up.

The blue skirt girl doesn't either.

She is mostly gone.
They are mostly gone.

"What about your frustration levels?"

Buy a lunch you can't afford and steal
french fries from a guy you admire for reasons you will never
admit or understand but appreciate that his plan is a plan and your plan is not dying.

"Or you'll have an emotional breakdown..."

Let tears well up enough that if you didn't have glasses on someone would ask about them.
The glasses, of course. Not the tears.
Keep the glasses.
Avoid the questions.

"We're good on trips, right"

There was a video of a river from really high up with no sound.
Be that river.
Be that video.
Be that answer to the question that says which person you know will be the mostly like to..

"You call at the worst times."

You can count on your arm the things left from that very first
Some combination of money, love, cat poison, personal safety, old age, the environment, social improvement systems and your own bullshit ideals leave just you.

That house is mostly gone.
You are mostly gone.