Bar Poem

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?

Dandelion seed and the unseen

It comes before you’re ready –

Hunkered down, roots in ground, then

w h o o s h

The push

Ripped from the only home you’ve known,

Thrown places you never wished to go.

The more you fight, the more it feels there,

The cement fists made only of air

Which force spores’ flight and lend height,

Sometimes slight turbulence,

Maybe even serious disturbance,

As you collide with beehives

Or dive into lakes of dew.

You try to control it but it’s controlling you.

Though you may will yourself up the mountain

Or through watery rainbows of fountains,

With each passing day you see you had less say

In the way you blew than you would like to admit.

Now that I am full grown,

I look back on where I was blown

And wonder if I brought myself to this fertile land

Or if, in fact, it was never in my hands.

Seeds don’t like to believe the unseen

But I know at times in life I truly felt it carry me,

And now, look, I have bloomed

Because I trusted something called the wind.