She said,
“We can go to this new bar
that I heard about.
All my friends
told me
that the atmosphere
is so great.”
And I said,
“Okay,”
with some deep
reservation
screaming,
“NOOOOO!”
inside my bones.
When we got there
she settled in,
and started
picking up toothpicks,
peanut shells
and bent coasters,
building a nest for the night.
I watched her
preparing to roost,
and I thought to myself
“I know that I
have seen this behavior
before…
Oh, my God,
she wants to STAY
AT THE BAR.”
If she had asked me
what I wanted to do,
(and she didn’t)
I could have given her ideas.
I could have saved the night
(or at least myself).
I would have said we should grab a blanket
and make for the park and we could lay
out on that cold, hard snow and stare
up at the sky through the tops of swaying trees
until our toes started to freeze and our blood
began begging for the warmth of a bed!
I would have said we should go sledding
down those icy hills in cardboard boxes
or on particle board or plywood sheets.
Any flat trash is fine – and there is
so much of it here, just going to waste!
I would have said we should pack my car
and make a headlong dash for the shore
to see the stars wink out, one by one,
before watching the sea give birth
to a morning full of fire and glory
while we huddled together
against all that creeping cold!
I would have said we should get drunk
and play dress-up and take ridiculous,
scandalous photographs of each other,
finally wild, twisted and free!
I would have said we should go bowling.
Not to go bowling,
but to see how long we could last,
to see how much they could take
before they threw us out
or called the police,
two wild beasts rampaging
new love down those dreary lanes!
I would have told her how
the magic of life
isn’t waiting patiently for her
inside some hip bar
or standing in line
outside a trendy club.
That she can’t buy it
because they don’t sell it.
That nobody can sell it.
I would have told her that
happiness,
real happiness,
has to be orchestrated.
We have to create it,
we have to improvise it.
We have to MacGyver
the shit out of it,
or we’ll never have it at all.
I would have told her that
until she understands
these things
every night out
getting wasted,
IS wasted.
That every one of those nights
will feel like standing
in front of a firing squad
for those of us
with the courage
to create
our own
joy.
But in the end
I just snuck out
of that great bar,
“for some air,”
and went to build
my fun
alone.