November 2011 – Page 2 – Poetry Is For Girls

To a new location

It hangs by a needle
on the blackboard.
The image captured
so well in four frames.

Look at the smile
I used to get by.
Our lips,
bang bang.

A year later
I couldn’t have told you
that I wouldn’t be able
to return to this place with you.

There was this door that hid
behind the vines that hugged
the brick wall
at the back of the yard.

It kept the words locked
like a safe. You’re hiding
from me. You are
far away.

As I look down upon the valley floor,
I can’t help but ask why
you got the short end of the stick.

I could see
before you,
But I didn’t experience
before you.

I wish I could trade spots baby
because you deserve more
than was ever given to you.
That bed has my name written all over it.

Lucky is all I was
and am today.
I haven’t earned anything
that I love to claim.

“Keep letting him do the talkin’.
See where that gets ya.
Back to where ya started:
where everyone believes ya.”

But they shouldn’t.
Nah, they should be careful.
They can’t predict
the next move I’ll make.

It started with the seam,
before it moved to the collar,
and before I knew it,
my shirt was on fire.

Sometimes it takes a perspective
from the bottom of the mountain
to realize how tall you were
when you stood at the top.

I can almost feel the passport
in my hand,
clutched tightly.
Oh, this is humbling.

I’m not ready for it,
But my head is looking north,
and once I reach the top again
I’m never coming back down.

Light me up bartender.
They don’t seem to understand
the importance of a good story.

Turn the jazz up a bit, would ya?
I’m trying to find a balance here.

I’m conniving the best way to bring him down.
I don’t see the other side here.
Editorializing it is,
while I feign his intelligence.

Don sure would’ve been proud,
as I was of him.
But I’m not one to say it.

Pour me another bartender.
I’m waiting on tomorrow’s paper.

The intimacy of black and white
fills your home every night
at 6 o’clock,
and I’m the one you’re watching.