we could get along
we could get along
by floyd crenshaw
i sit
on a bench
at inaugeration station
waiting for
a blond-hair,
blue-eye
caucasion.
all i hear
the wind and
the water fountain and
dogs and
‘catch! ‘ and
kids and
‘you’re out! ‘ and
‘no, i’m not.’ and
my so-so sighs.
waiting for
pleasing lies and
a few awkward moments and
those cute rebounds and
cigarettes and
beer and
food and
you getting sauce all over and
asking for extra napkins and
me getting cocky and
taking shots of bourbon
on a full belly and
sneaking out to vomit and
you finding me and
not caring and
handing me one of the many napkins
that you stuffed in your purse…
Out of nothing may come a well-spring of life. …life in this poem comes in the form of partying and getting crazy, or so it seems. The crux is lonliness and our mind’s wanderings…our lust for excitement in the hive…or maybe just 1 other. It only takes 1 and they may not need be perfect (blond blue eyed caucasian if you had your druthers…).
Beggars can’t be choosers, or else the beggars become losers. But some things aren’t meant to be. Perhaps the longing for activity makes it worth that much more when the situation really arises…and this longing for different aspects of life shapes who we are. Beam me up Biscotti! I’ve gotten too analytical Dr.Spock. Spare not the rod! Just kiddin’. Your poem is onto something…thanks.