Thursday Blues

I
M
Bluer than the ocean
Bluer than the eyes
Of a lying temptress
In a bar
A bed
The bread aisle at the grocery store

I
M
As happy as a man could be
On a night when it wasn’t
My turn to pick up
The sweetest child from school
And when it wasn’t
My turn to have
The life I’ve seen some have
The mate
The career
The validation
But I had
The cookies to bake
The dishes to wash
The Ancient Age finally back in the liquor store
The soundtrack to Natural Born Killers
The odd-extended-music-video of a movie
Patty Smith Rock and Roll N-word
(Because I’ve used the n-word gratuitously enough)
(It’s not my turn tonight for that either)
Then Cowboy Junkies Sweet Jane
Which isn’t Lou Reed but is a whole other great and dreamy beast
Then Bob Dylan
Who sings like a cartoon caricature
Of a bad country crooner
Yet shines through with
A fabulously beautiful song
From the ’50s
Called You Belong to Me

And from not-the-natural-born-killers
Would you say it’s
The greatest single line ever in a song lyric?
(If you wanted the sky I would WRITE across the sky in le-e-tters
that would SOAR a thousand fe-eet hi-i-igh)
To Sir With Love
And The Difficult Kind
And Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
And when you’re at home alone
Singing karaoke
You’re the best singer
In the house
And “karaoke is Japanese for tone-deaf”
Makes you smile
Despite your fierce
Determination
To feel sorry for yourself
Because of the pure
GOD
DAMN
Absence.

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2 Responses to Thursday Blues

  1. You like sweet Jane too! Cowboy Junkies are so mellifluous, aren’t they I mean she? I love that poem, it combines humour, pathos and rhythm:)

    • “Melliflouous” is exactly the right word here, yes! I think I had a CD of theirs once, but Sweet Jane was the only song I really liked. Lou Reed did a lot of great things musically (though he was a beast of a man, if you believe the ‘net), but I like their version so much better.
      And thanks for the “love” on the poem. There’s a fine line between “overgrown teenage angst” and poetry that resonates with people, and I usually have my doubts as to where I am on that line, especially if I’m writing about love. But if we always listened to our doubts we’d never write anything, would we?

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