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Click hereRewind.
Stop.
Play.
"Tell me a story,"
she says.
Her voice is sultry
little-girl unapologetic
demanding
"I don't know any stories,
anymore."
I sound like rough sex
bad attitude
silk sheets
"Then tell me something pretty,"
She just wants me to talk.
I remember this.
We are staring
out the windows at streetlights
on the ride home.
She wants to hear a
heroin fairy-tale.
We are both very
drunk.
"Ok, lady. Ok...
Sometimes...
Sometimes I think
it's not the heat
it's the humanity
Sometimes I think
That we only sweat
because we can't bleed in public.
It's not that it's hot,
you know?
It's that we're only human,
'n evey time we go to
that fucking place...
Virginia,
I don't feel like
doing this, right now."
"No, honey, you can make it pretty.
Don't stop."
"Ok, lady. Ok...
Sometimes...
Sometimes I feel like..
Like my chest is going to cave in,
and
my heart will explode
out into the night,
ripping through my back
because my ribs have turned
inside out and it'll fly away,
you know?
Way up in the sky
and
little drops of blood will fall
on everyone
like rain
and I'll feel the wind
in every cockle."
"Cockle?"
She sounds like
opera
when she laughs,
her head tilts back.
"Fuck you,
it's my story."
"Ok."
"And I'll rain on..."
I'm wound down.
Did I look at her?
I think so.
"Virginia, I really don't..."
"Give.
Me.
Something.
Pretty."
I can see the
I-want lines in her forehead
memory of
a memory
"Ok, lady. Ok...
Sometimes...
Sometimes I want a nice little house.
A little house I can paint black,
With a swing out in front
and a garden in back.
I'd decorate it with skulls
and crossbones and..
and..."
"And what?"
Intent.
I can hear her
leaning in,
soft breathing.
Almost ranting
fevered waterfall
of words and ideas
"And
I'd plant
little pink
flowers out in front,
in chrome tubs with
'Fuck you.' painted on the side in bright
red letters.
The walls inside would all be white
I'd get maroon paint to flick on them,
so it'd look like a murder
you'd draw on the ceilings,
little angels with broken wings
and ripped up jeans
Breakfast would be at nine-sharp,
every morning -
you could wear that
pink fucking retro
apron with the white border,
you know,
the heart-shaped one
and big black shoes -
A-line dresses with
high zippers in the back,
the ones I always help you with,
and
you hold your hair
like a pin-up
so it doesn't catch in the teeth
You can always use
that long stemmed cigarette holder.
I'd get us the ugliest couch in the world
so we could seal it in plastic and paint little
stick figures on it."
Silence for a few moments,
no sound but
the road,
us smoking
"What else?"
"All the floors could be black and white tiles
and we could use headless dolls for
chess pieces.
I'll use dressed up Kens
and you can have
Panty-whore
bondage barbies
We'll only come out at night
and we'll only play metal all day,
but when it's dark
we'll fuck with the
neighbors,
I'll play Mozart and you'll play
Vivaldi,
all at the same time
as loud as we can stand.
We'll go to neighborhood watch meetings
in formal wear,
I'll get a tux with a red jacket
and a deadly looking
bow tie.
You can wear that
little black number
that makes all the girls
jealous,
long gloves -
The Breakfast At Tiffany's getup,
remember,
like when we went to
see it at the
midnight movie?"
"Uh-huh,"
I can hear the smile.
"And you'll always wear pearls
and I'll always wear silver
bracelets and black sport-coats
and the neighbors'll never know
that I work at a concert hall
slash
bowling alley.
And you'll dress up in
nineteen fifty
elegance
and the neighbors'll never know
you sling pizza
with a red apron on,
delivering drinks with a
tired smile...
Ok?"
"Ok, honey,
Ok."
I can hear her window roll down,
the sound of wind.
She picks up the recorder
and there is
a click.
Stop.
Rewind.
Stop.
Play.
This is fabulous - I can so see an old friend speaking this to me while we chainsmoked on a roadtrip.
makeshift
shapeless
inorganic
crime scene
one to recite
silently
on the bus ride
i'm anticipating.
I rarely, rarely save a poem but this one I'm saving.
Thanks for writing it and sharing it.
Love,
Eve
"And you'll dress up in
nineteen fifty
elegance"
Out of this entire piece, I don't know why I liked these lines in particular, but they made my eyes sparkle. you'r soooooooo dreeeeaaaamy! *laughs* I'm really diggin' this one. It's charming in that 'not supposed to be charming' way. The way it runs on draws you into the story being told instead of boring you to death.... diggin' it.
light
R~~~
...because I hated it when it was said to me. But, here goes: Though I truly enjoyed this, I think it has great potential as prose. Though it reads so very well, I found myself wondering "why a poem?"