foot in my mouth
i put my foot in my mouth
i say the wrong things all of the time
and here we were
it was pretty innocent and pretty normal
like a regular day off at the bar
you and me and manhattan like always
seth telling us his stories
in between pulls on pints and vodka shots
as jukebox music rumbled the grassroots
in my defense, it was the kind of day
where i tend to forget myself
and jobs and bills and the hundred sundry problems
the kind of day where i get on my sudsy pedestal
and go on like the last great american orator
the kind of day that seemed de rigueur
to the spirit of our existence only a month ago
but how could i forget cancer
and say a thing like that to you?
it wasn’t even about you
but about me and my old man and his prostate cancer
only i knew that i put my foot in my mouth
as soon as i said it
if i have prostate cancer at forty then obviously
i wasn’t meant to be on this planet anyway
as sure as your eyes filled with tears
i knew that i fucked up with that one
and i practically begged seth to get us another pint
i should’ve realized it before i said
been more proactive than the beer in regards to my thoughts
because it’s always there
cancer cancer cancer cancer cancer cancer cancer cancer
like some wilted, gray beacon in the night sky
there aren’t enough pints to take it away
enough saturdays in manhattan
to make it pack its bags and go beach itself
on someone else’s couch for a while
and leave us be.
07.07.14
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