STAR STORE

the bell rings as i walk into the star store. i look around at the walls and
the posters of stars, labeled Sneden’s Star, Bessel’s Star, Cor Caroli,
Plaskett’s star, Teegarden’s Star and so on. at the far back of the room
is a man in black thick-rimmed glasses watching cat videos on the
internet. he 
doesn’t smile as the cats push glasses off the table, or slip
on wooden 
floors or fall off furniture chasing after a red laser pointer.
“can i help 
you?” he says staring me up and down. “yes, hi, i was
interested in 
purchasing a star,” i say. he says to me “i’m very sorry but
we are completely sold out of stars.” i take a second to digest this. “ok,”
i say. well. do you know when you will be getting more stars in?” “no,” he
says to me “you don’t understand. there are no more stars left to buy.”
he itches his nose and presses play again on his cat videos. “but how is
that even possible?” i ask him. “the universe is infinite, isn’t it?” he pauses
the cat video again. “yes.” he says. “yes it is, but all the stars have been
bought.” “but there’s an infinite number of stars too i’d wager,” i say. “you
would think so,” he says, “but humans are greedy as fuck, and all the stars
have been bought. there’s no more,” all the stars have been purchased.
i try to fathom how that’s possible. “yeah, i’m sorry. today’s our last day of
business. we’ll be closing our doors at 6 p.m. sharp.” “well, what’s going to
be here in place of the star store?” i ask. “a cell phone case store,” he says
to me. “is there anything else i can help you with?” he says to me. “what
else could you possibly help me with?” i ask him. “i was just being polite,”
he says. i exit the star store and immediately walk home, pack up my bags
and move to Hong Kong, the city in the world with the most light pollution.
i like that i can’t see the stars that i will never have a chance to own here.
one day i realize i am 7,909 miles away from cleveland, ohio now and i
decide to open up a star store selling stars. after paying my first month’s
rent and purchasing a few posters of stars for the walls i decide to buy
myself a star as a reward for my hard work. i name the star Greg. on
slow days i sit at my desk and watch cat videos, except i don’t wear
black thim-rimmed glasses, and i smile while i watch the cats.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

02.22

0222

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(where am i?)

i woke up
and out my window
were the dusty chinese lamps of chinatown
mount fuji
off in the distance
covered with the snows of kilimanjaro
cold and ancient
i found myself in a foreign land
where the night cafes were open until dawn
the city glowing in the rain

the dusty roads leading to neon casinos
and water clear enough to see to the bottom
there was an identity to this place
though i didn’t know what it was
maybe a western mindset of eastern philosophy
there was something about the way
the snow covered the ground
like the weather wast trying to tell us
we can start over if we want to
or we could just throw all the cats in a bag
and shake it up

i began to feel sea sick
it was as if the palm trees in the distance\
were swaying with me
to the acoustic ringing of polynesian ukulele
and the old, old buildings crumbled
like pixels of my sanity

when in rome, they say,
do as the romans do

so i went down
to fisherman’s wharf
and i rented myself a fixie
and i rode it through the winding streets
the narrow dark back alleyways
over the grassy knolls
and down martin luther king blvd.
and when i felt burnt out
i retired in the night to a pizza parlor
this city really does never sleep
it’s so big
and there’s just months of sunlights
and months of night

to think slaves made these pyramids
it was so damn cold
and i was stuck in bermuda shorts
lost in the cocaine triangle of denver

i could barely see across this wide wide river
full of caymans and pirahnas, the fish and flauna
and memories of you
you
lost on some distant star of a planet

i wish you were here
we could go see the savage matadors
murdering the innocent bulls

i wish you were here
i guess technically you are

it seems everyone speaks their own language here
the oceans are so blue
the grass is so green
the continents all fit together so nicely
like those hotel rooms
with nothing between each other
but locked doors

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.22, THE NEXT ENTRY IN THE 02.2013 PROJECT

02.2013 is a twenty-eight day project chronicling my february of 2013 through poetry. to read the entries from the beginning CLICK HERE