Saint Patrick’s Day
We were going to
meet after work
you walked
and said:
‘Hey. I walked to work. Can you send a limo?’
I said:
‘Ok, but if you get outside and
there’s just a pumpkin, you were too late.’
Ah . . . Cinderella.
Cinderelly Cinderelly.
I drove my pumpkin
to pick her up
and we went to see a movie,we saw:
Alice in Wonderland
but in the theatre
(where there was free popcorn)
I did not hold her hand and
I did not put my arm around her and
I did not even watch the movie.
all of these things seemed
suddenly impossible.
all I could think about was taking
that stupid bag of free popcorn
and hurling it into the air
from this back row
and then
skipping down the backs of seats
amidst the falling
fucking popcorn.
On the drive home it was quiet.
Pumpkins have
really good
these days.
I tried to talk about the
answer to the riddle that
the Mad Hatter kept asking:
how is a raven like a writing desk?
and I told you about
my deceased stepfather’s father
and the time I saw a raven with him
but that didn’t do anything for anybody.
Then we saw a dead rabbit on the road.
the only way that
that could have been worse
was if he had been wearing a goddamned waistcoat.
Of course it wasn’t me
who hit the rabbit
but it felt like it
might as well
have been.
And so here I am on
Saint Patrick’s Day
where maybe I should be thinking of
how he chased all the
snakes from the Emerald Isle
it was the fucking ice age
that killed all the snakes
Not you.
Or maybe
I should be worried
for the blood of my generation
because of
real estate
in Israel.
Or maybe
I should be worried
about how
at the end of winter
I can’t see
the breath in front of our faces
and so
how do I know that the world
is still real in front of our faces?
And how is a raven like a writing desk?