Friday, August 28, 2015

poem of the day 08.28.15

holy saturday night #2

and i think
enough indie rock generation
generation x
for me
i want to be locked alone
in my bedroom with books
but how can i think this
vertical double fist beer canned
at the bloomfield bridge tavern
half in love
with the singer on stage
she stands there this holy saturday night
raven haired and pale
in white lace baby doll dress
her porcelain hands enveloping the mic
angelic in soft purple stage lights
this pub pittsburgh pub polish pub
even the pope smiles down on the scene
from a glossy photo
enough indie rock generation to last a lifetime
i’m not indie rock
i’ve usurped this scene
and somewhere out there in shiver-shit pittsburgh
calvin and steve are casing east carson street’s
blood smear of bars and clubs
with rap tapes and r&b
and i’ve left the table here
where kris and angie were holding hands underneath
a third wheel for sure
stuck between two worlds
a two-twenty five bud in one hand
a two-dollar import special in the other
courtesy of jesse trbovich
who says he owes me
owes me for what?
because money don’t matter tonight
not here when none of us have any
not this holy saturday night
with jesse running around the bar
like the chairman of the board indie-rock host
in his green-white golf shirt
beatle haircut and buddy holly specs
knowing everyone in the bar
kris said he should’ve had a martini in his hand
kris said the world would be better off apolitical
but, ah, after all
he’s only a man of letters now
and these beers don’t mesh
but i drink them anyway
i fall deeper in love with the singer on stage
i fall in love all the time
with hope’s voice calling from washington
the red-haired girl in art class
the blonde the forever blonde
and jesse says i wallow too much in my maleness
and kris says i’m becoming a masochist
but one kiss from this singer
one dedicated ballad could change that
but i’ve had enough
of this indie rock school house rock scene
only jesse is somewhere in the bbt
shouting passages from ulysses
and calvin and steve
are still out in pittsburgh
trying to get their rocks off
paying for it if it comes down to it
and i’m not there
and i’m not here so
oh, i know the night is cold
i know i should be locked somewhere
behind closed doors with books
i should be making pittsburgh a memory
but here i am
double fisted double canned double vision
i nod toward these friends
head out in the cold pittsburgh night
walk liberty avenue like a shroud
maybe too drunk to drive home
but ah
but oh
a car pulls up next to me
drunk smirks and idles
i get in the passenger seat
and we go wherever
the night prays for next.


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