I’ve seen you march, at least once,
With the inked up crowd,
Behind the bangled teens and
Anorexic skinny jeans
On the near-nightly pilgrimage
To the bars on Bleeker where,
All locked in corners,
Wearing dark circles under eyes,
The latest trend in bricks around hearts,
Forgiveness is begged for sins
As they are committed.
Oil spilling from the tips of tongues,
Ranting as if unchecked passion
Will produce a sort of solution,
As if you, you are the solution,
And curse those who can’t see it,
Inhaling organic oxygen and
Exhaling Nickelodeon trivia
To the person across the counter,
Burnt with anxious eyes
As if her--or his--you can’t quite tell,
Acknowledgment will fulfill you,
Though you offer nothing in return.
Our mouths are open but our ears are closed,
And I don’t mean to say--
Now,
Maybe this is the gin talking--
But it seems to me we let the gin
Do too much talking for us.
And I’ve seen you take her--or him--
I can’t quite tell, home.
It’s routine now, isn’t it?
Where you microwave your meals
Eating side by side but saving your eyes
For the television (No!)
You won't look at her to know
If this was the food he wanted.
This is how we play grown up:
We zap ourselves into feeling anything
Then overcook the possibilities.
Reality hits when dirty dishes find
No hands to wash or help them dry,
And arguments of absolutes reappear,
For you always do everything
And she never does nothing and, O!,
If you had only known it would come to this
When she washed away your sins
With that holy gin and,
O!, if she had only seen
You offered nothing in return,
Then you wouldn’t have to be here now,
Cleaning up after a meal
With someone trying to care for you,
Though you still offer nothing.
We can order drinks but we can’t pick up the tab,
Can't pick up much of anything,
And I don’t mean to say--
Now,
Maybe I’ve put away
Too many old fashioneds--
But is it so old fashioned
To care?
Because I’ve seen you in the street at night,
Oil spilling from the tip of your tongue,
Polluting the love he tried to give you
Across the bar, yes, when you revisited
That night and swore it all was a lie--
When you stormedslammed out the door
And said, “It’s over!”
Because you couldn’t say
What you really needed to say.
You couldn’t say,
“I’m not sure I know how to love.”
O!, how lovely, to return home alone,
When all you want is her to hold you.
Though you don’t. I know, I’ve seen you
Joining the nightly pilgrimage anew;
They only take the easy way out and,
Let’s face it, your heart can’t pump
Enough blood to push you up
The bumpy road back to her house,
So why not find a quieter bench
For sleeping tonight?
In the arms of someone whose
Acknowledgment will fulfill you,
Because, didn’t he she ever tell you?
You inhale organic oxygen beautifully,
And your knowledge of old Nickelodeon shows is,
Well, it’s what you can offer.
History has taught us not to admit our wrongs,
And I don’t mean to say--
Now,
Maybe I shouldn’t make a habit of
Drinking bourbon, but--
It buries
Every doubt
That maybe
I was wrong
To walk out.
Because I’ve seen you, really seen you,
Underneath the bangles and skinny jeans,
The oil spills and permanent ink,
I’ve seen you in your strongest moments,
When you feel most weak,
Seen you look up to the sky
With eyes that beg for something more,
If only you could look outside yourself
For one moment,
If only you could offer
Something in return.
I know we are all suffering
From too many bars,
Too much carbon dioxide,
But maybe if we put down the gin
Turn off the television, and turn in,
We will see what we need has been
Beside us, and within us, all along.
How much longer will we inhale organic oxygen
And think that will be enough?
How much longer until we see
That there is no amount of sunscreen
That can save a body deprived of healing touch
Or a heart from burning
When its own fire
Is trapped for too long?
