Thursday, November 13, 2014

poem of the day 11.13.14

not getting served at the subway inn

ten minutes before this
we were still in the hospital room
watching my mother-in-law wrestle
with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich
just something, the nurse told her
to get in her stomach to take away the nausea
we were dressed like hazmat techs
in gloves and smocks and something to cover our mouths
the steelers were losing to the jets
two minutes left in the game and my wife shut the tv off
so her mother could get some sleep
but that was all right
the football gods will always live to see another day
and besides i stopped watching the NFL
almost two years ago
i have ceased tying my fate
to that of any sports team
only here in the subway inn they have televisions all over
playing games in between commercials
for SUVS, luxury cars or joining the marines
the few people in here are shouting
some drunk chick keeps screaming
but i don’t know at which screen
and though it may seem sexist
i’ve always held a special hatred for the female football fan
my wife and i aren’t getting served in the place
we probably need a drink
more than any two people in manhattan this sunday afternoon
only the bartender is gone
or he’s one of the people sitting at the bar
watching football and waiting us out
most likely he’s changing a keg or taking a shit
the bar has signs hanging
asking people to help save it from
twirling moustache landlords
and the inevitable new york city rent hike
you can tweet or twit or join facebook
to spread the word
at the end there’s a banner proclaiming the bar saved
the same legendary subway inn
only now it’s moving four avenues away
where the rent hikes will take another ten years
to make their way east
and they’ll have to do this shit all over again
still, while we continue to wait
on the first drink of the day
i consider the subway inn and its change in venue
how it really won’t be the same
no matter what these people fool themselves into believing
like my mother-in-law in her hospital bed
telling us that she feels like an old person
or how i’m forty and wondering where in the hell
the tiredness and all this gray hair came from
human beings
we change and morph and never realize it
because we’re too hung up just trying to live
i think it would be nice if human beings could shed their shell
just like buildings or locusts
put up signs asking people to help them get a new body
to tweet or twit or join facebook
until we can hang a joyous banner around our necks
proclaiming ourselves saved
the same mortal coil that you’ve always known
only now four streets down
and ten blocks away
free of stress and all tangible worry
a fresh pint before us as our favorite team scores
a new legacy sprung from the ashes of the old
a living and breathing phoenix
at least until the landlord finds us out
and comes knocking


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