Blues #3

one of those days where you just watch the movie over and over again. you stare on again as the man drives down the orchard avenue. as he picks up the black and white girl in the colorful dress. as they drive to the hilltop. as they smooch beneath the moon. as he drives her back home. as the dad looks disappointed in the window. as he drives away. as he dreams about her. as he wakes up in the morning and tells his buddies about the date by the lockers. as the bully challenges him to the fight. as they throw fists. as the principal interjects. as the girl gets mad that he fought the bully. as they break up. and they get back together again. and you watch it again. and you eat the cardboard box your cereal came in. and you eat the egg crates. and you chase it down with one hundred raging bulls unsettled in the acid of your stomach. and you close your eyes for the running. and you close your eyes and you hear the film again. seeping into your daydreams. and you wake up. and you’re back again. you’re back again with the film. and it’s okay. you know it’s gonna be okay. because they’ve broken up before. and they always get back together. and it’s familiar. it’s familiar like your childhood home. like the tin boxes above the kitchen cabinets. like the ceramic chicken in the windowsill above the sink. like the broken latch on the backyard gate. and you could quote the movie. you lip along the words. you anticipate the music. the transitions between scenes. and eventually you fall out of it all. as the dvd menu plays on repeat. and it’s okay. it’s plays on repeat and it’s okay. because when you wake up tomorrow this will be the day that never really happened.

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Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

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