Alone With a Chair
“ALONE WITH A CHAIR”
I could never express how it
feels, walking outside at 3
in the morning, wrapped
inside the night air. I’m in
my shorts, without a shirt.
without the sun, you can see
all of what you ignore in the
yard. you can hear the chain
move on the neck of the dog
next door. there aren’t any
cars at this time so the
frogs hold your ears
prisoner. the Pacific I hold
tastes better than ever and
each drag from the cigarette
gets better. very few people
listen to classical today but
how many can say they listen
to Gould? it’s a glorious
thing when you know at that
time, you’re the only one. I
forget my heartache, the
Pacific and the cigarette
give me something a whore
could never give me. I sit
there in existence and smile
into the sky as I listen to
the recordings that Gould
made when he was alive. it’s
a magic unlike anything I can
clearly describe. for the
moment, you know you’re safe.
for the moment, you are
living. lines for the next
poem come to mind and I place
each one accordingly.
I can only hope this night
never ends but with the end
of each sound of music, so
too does the time pass. soon,
the sun will be out and I’ll
be back to this miserable
position. I’ll leave the
chair for now; it’s not like
the whores I’ve known. it’ll
be there when I get back. my
bottle is empty, the
cigarette is out, Gould has
come to an end and all that
is left is the squeaking of
the chair, the squeaking that
tells me, tomorrow early
morning, I get to do it all
over again.
By: Chicano Eddie
9-23-2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
