Regular Poem: Sing to Me, O Muse, of a Sad and Beautiful Drunk Man

25 Apr

“You know
I have a problem:
I talk to people,
and I don’t care what
I say,”
he says.
It may be the actual
truest statement of all.

I wish
I could translate
all my dad’s stories
that all begin and end
in medias res
and that all
may or may not be
mostly lies
into an accurate picture
of who he is.

If poetry were efficient
or my brain were sufficient
to provide
words to describe
the surreal quality all of our
interactions share,
when he’s three whiskeys in
and becoming increasingly
philosophical and sentimental,
and I can feel my mind
start to wander into
his fantastical world,
and part of me is
watching myself talk to him
from some ethereal television set
in another realm–

if I could just quote him enough
and explain the quotations,
their thematic relevance
and their fallacies,
their role in a larger whole
of that strange person
who raised me–

if I could sift through
the stories and the stories
and find the pretty pyrite
aged in a stream of bourbon that
comprises most of him,

I would write
a poem so long and lovely and weird
that students several generations
from now
would study it and think
dancing with transsexuals
and buying cocaine undercover as an Oklahoma truck driver
and ingesting nothing but whiskey for a week straight
were part of the
heroic cycle.

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4 Responses to “Regular Poem: Sing to Me, O Muse, of a Sad and Beautiful Drunk Man”

  1. Silver Screenings 26 April 2014 at 11:17 AM #

    This almost made me cry.

    • TheBestofAlexandra 26 April 2014 at 11:22 AM #

      Almost? I’ll have to try harder next time! 😉

      • Silver Screenings 26 April 2014 at 11:23 AM #

        It’s only because it’s morning and I’m hopped up on an early mug of hot chocolate. If it were later in the day, I’d be hunting down the tissue.

      • TheBestofAlexandra 26 April 2014 at 11:27 AM #

        Phew!

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