End of the Line

Posted: February 26, 2014 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

1969-0913-Richard-Erin-wedding
Am I the end of the family line?
Will I always be alone and scraping at the walls like a spider in a jar?
No-one to woo, no-one to flirt with,
Walking alone through the streets of my town,
With my friends all coupled up and cosy.
There are no wingmen.
My loneliness reverberates through the blue-black night looking for union but finding nothing.

And if I got married would I wear my Hawaiian shirt?
Would I care that she’s not Winona Ryder?
Will I enthral my in-laws with extensive knowledge of the drug habits of famous people?
While they look at me as if I were both a vagrant and a chronic self-abuser.
I am not far from either of these things but at least I won’t tell them I write poetry.
‘He’s come to take our girl away! He’s come to take our girl away!’ they gesticulate in an as yet unknown foreign accent.
Would we run out of the house, slamming the door, to elope to some hidden unknowable paradise?
Romeo and Juliet driving to the airport like amphetamine lunatics,
Then off to live on love and coconuts and stretch out in the sun like drying tomatoes.
Will we be carefree in the bewildering sunshine?

Or have a big dumb family wedding with hundreds of strangers and random relatives?
Perform and primp for a crowd of crow-voiced spectators,
Then off to a succulent honeymoon in secret motels of nuptial excitement.
Tender love eight times in one night if I’m up to it,
Then into a stylish apartment where we drink martinis and plan dinner parties,
With well-behaved children barely impinging on our stereotypical happiness.

Or will we lose ourselves in substances and vain illusions?
Two children of God lost in the elegant haze of indulgence.
We blow smoke-rings at angels!
We knit moments of infinite debauchery!
We are pinned against the universe wearing tourniquets and sucked into endless yearning for the next shot!

Or will we be happy and wholesome,
In the suburbs that bleed into endless uniform streets,
With the detritus of children everywhere but smiles on our skulls?
You and me against a galaxy of nay-sayers and divorce-mongers,
Together despite all impulses to flee,
Loneliness ends with the rumour of a whisper,
And marriage begins like an insect, like an explosion, like rain, drowning us in suburban comfort as we do the best we can with the pagan, pock-marked hours.

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Comments
  1. Absolutely lovely junk philosophy.

    Like

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