Fiction? | Non Fiction?




Vacation Blues

Whatever you think you’ll be,
well, you’re not that now.
Thinking of this as you’re sunning on a crowded ocean front —
some tacky faded beach towel slung over a second-hand lawn chair, perhaps.
Your eyes altered by cascading girls sporting smiles fraught with
misplaced idealism and paper-thin hope.
No one really cares or portrays truth, you know.
Not even distant college lovers so ingrained in your heart that
you wouldn’t still breathe without those sparkling memories.
Not even them. They’ve grown piggy banks where hearts use to be.


I wonder, now, if you’re wild future will be what you want.
It sounds nice. For sure.
But years will change. Friends will have different mailing addresses.
Wishes replaced. Goals re-prioritized.

Anything is possible, but none if it is plausible.
Whatever you once saw gleaming as your way of life —
a worry-less trip through the world on standing ovations
and sold-out bookstores or bar stages —
isn’t shining anymore. Not that I can tell. And what I see, you see.


So conclude, with a final drink, this slight escape from where you’ll always be.
Pack the sorry lunch after the headlights fade.
It’s always back to work on Mondays.


You know that.