POEM: Long Day In America

Painting by Michelle Spark

Long Day In America

shimmering cymbal rises off the stage like heat from the pavement
I’m at a table near the band, drowning my sorrows in a glass of water
or at least drowning, anyway

this is one of those days when I wish I drank, something strong and obliterating
that would wash it all away like a sand castle falling to high tide

I come back to reality for a moment while the bass player looks for a chart
a course through the tune so he won’t get lost
I wish it were that easy

these are the times that try men’s souls, then stomp them with boots made of
   money
and unfulfilled potential and disappointment

two tables away a guy is talking loudly, so the band turns up and he talks louder
so the band turns up and he’s shouting, and eventually an old man in a natty suit
leans over from the next table and tells the guy to “please shut the fuck up”

maybe it’s the language, maybe it’s the old man’s audacity, but it works
a hero is born

saves me the trouble of driving my rented U-Haul truck right through the front
   window
smashing the moron to a pulp, smearing the carpet
with his like-new brains

there’s no way to summarize all the things you are on paper
but that doesn’t stop people from trying — my life is a bulleted list
in 12-point Arial or 10-point Times New Roman if I’m feeling professional

I’m bored and terrified, can’t focus
lose the form of the song, even an easy one

my eyes are burning