like a lecture on the history of ego at the saddest school.
Falling from airplanes, he pretended to fly,
insulted when I didn't catch him.
Falling from rooftops, I pretended I was rock,
furious that I missed him.
Cuddled up in black fatigues,
jaunty beret tilted to catch the solar joy,
he loaded his rubber guns, his parachute, his poetry
into his beetley, duct-taped Civic,
rode through the forest of civilization.
Never once did I hear him sing.
His stories were numbered, rollodexed into his spine,
drop a shot of vodka in the liquid jukebox.
Finally the glass was less than half empty
and mine was full,
and he still calls, insulted
that I wasn't there to break
his last, best fall.
Cheryl A. Rice is founder and host of the now-defunct “Sylvia Plath Bake-Off.” Her work has appeared in HomePlanet News, Mangrove, The Temple, and Woodstock Times, among others. Chapbooks include Llama Love (2017: Flying Monkey Press), Moses Parts the Tulips (2013: APD Press), and My Minnesota Boyhood (2012: Post Traumatic Press). In 2014 she was nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology. Her RANDOM WRITING workshops are held throughout New York’s Hudson Valley. Her poetry blog is at: http://flyingmonkeyprods.blogspot.com/.
For Weekly Updates on the Poetry World of Cheryl A. Rice, go to:
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Beautifully written. You couldn't have said it better....
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