poem of the day 02.24.14

portrait of the artist

as a bloated borderline alcoholic

i always think

that i look better than i do in pictures

younger and healthier

my hair is always looking decent

on the street when women look at me

i like to think, yeah, they’re onto something good

but then someone takes a picture of me

my wife or a family member or someone else

and the evidence to the contrary is overwhelming

the quasimodo hunchback

the face bloated from alcohol

the stomach like a barrel from beer and too much pizza

the hair flat and ugly blonde

the beard gone gray and white and wiry

when i see photos like these i think

christ, is this really what the rest of the world sees

when they look in my direction

i think this walking abomination can’t be me

but he is

i start making those terrible plans

kick the booze and kick the pizza

start up jogging again or log more miles on the walk to work

avoid sugar salts and fats

the problem is my memory is short

it must be all of the lost brain cells

and some days are just too long and hard

to forgo a stiff drink or three

sometimes pizza is my sole joy of the week

and i always thought that jogging was for assholes

i forgive and forget myself

allow for that vain amnesia to settle in again

i start to think

hey, i’m young and i’m healthy

i’ll bet my hair is looking pretty good too

i think i’m a golden god lost on the streets of brooklyn

and when i pass a woman in the street

when she stares a little bit too long in my direction

i think to myself

take a picture baby because it’ll last longer

just don’t send it my way, sweetheart

because my ego can drop like flies

at the blast of the flash

at the click of the shutter and snap.