I went to one of my favorite
lunch spots.
A comfortable place
to sit, eat good food,
read, sometimes write,
escape the fucking
nine to five.
Today, I looked around,
took a seat
at the bar
next to a girl.
Overheard her
tell the bartender
she was waiting
for some friends.
I offered my seat
to allow her
and her friends
to sit together.
She thanked me
but said it wasn’t necessary.
I ordered, took out a book
of poems to read.
The first thing I noticed
was the music.
It was
off.
Not the usual playlist
that I enjoy;
Zeppelin, Stones, guitar heavy.
Someone slipped in a 1980’s
synthesizer mess,
Duran Duran, Union of the Snake,
Miami Vice soundtrack bullshit.
Next, the girl’s friends arrived
which included her boyfriend.
They kissed and kissed
and talked and talked endlessly,
each bitching about friends
that were not there.
As I tried to drown them out
the bartender forgot my drink,
the food took extra long to arrive,
when it did, it was bad.
Worst of all,
word came on the news
that Fats Domino died.
It
was
all
off.
Their talk and kissing
led me to think
of my own situation—
eating alone again,
no plans for Friday night,
best friends far away,
face lines getting deeper,
in love with a girl
who doesn’t want to love me.
I finished quicker than usual
never got around to the poems,
went back to the nine to five
feeling off.
The whole goddamn thing—
lunch and life
were
just
off.
Todd Cirillo is co-founder and editor of Six Ft. Swells Press. His latest book is Burning the Evidence (Epic Rites Press, 2017). He has other books available and has been published in numerous national and international publications. Todd lives in New Orleans, Louisiana and can be found soaking his pirate heart in second lines and smiling under the neons searching for shiny moments. Look him up at Todd Cirillo
"The news is bad today, in America and for America. There is nothing good or hopeful about it--except for Nazis, warmongers, and rich greedheads" HST
.jpg)
No comments:
Post a Comment