Sunday 12/24/2006 11:38:00 PM

They were on the side of the road. Hitchhiking with empty wine glasses rather than thumbs. Tiny red halos anointed their kunckles as the sun threaded through the droplets of bastardized grapejuice still clutching the bottoms.

I say they were on the side of the road rather matter of fact. As that's where they spent most of their time. Sucking on Hershey bars. Square by square. Sipping levities made more of scent and attitude than of drugs.

I would watch from with the confines of my own 'occasions' that shameless tableau of strange lives fumbling at emotional orgasms from depths of depression. And all the vices that so readily attach themselves to it. Kicks of dirt impersonating footprints. Volleying for any kind of indication that they had struggled. Traversed.

Made it as far as this.

The traffic lights cycled as arbitrarily as they always did. The greens arriving so seldom that we began to believe the world had stopped. Or we'd fallen off. Without the benefit of sidewalks we fell over the uneven patches. Constantly. Heavily catching ourselves. The world screamed violently in every vehicle that murmured passed. But it still seemed to be gone. Or to have forgotten we were there.

We'd call it a holiday because everyone did. Not that it meant anything to us other than no mail and bad tv. We'd read questions off of cardboard diapers and laugh when the shit hit us in the face.

We'd never say, but it would happen to coincide that the same years ago we would remember we were both better and worse. We had more of the answers then, but only because the questions were easier.

0 comments:


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.