let’s get this out of the way

You’re the kind of boy I should
know better about by now.
No, there are no trackmark histories
hiding beneath your sleeves
no vodka under the pillow
and even though there’s a hint
of danger behind your too long bangs
you kind of make me feel safe.

It’s just that…
you’re a poet.
A poet in the worst way.
The recovering English major that
says he studied literature and
can quote Bright Eyes and Bukowski
with the same staggering accuracy.

You’d like to like hard liquor and easy girls
because it seems like something Henry Miller
would appreciate
but you’ve got a soft spot for beer and talking.
You make the Marlboro Man wish he was
more rock and roll
and James Dean wish he was a writer.
You look so good smoking I forget it’s
bad for me.
I’ve only ever seen you at night
but you make me think of sunny days at
Tanglewood and Walden Pond.

At 20, I don’t know that I would have been able
to stop myself from writing you a book
convinced I’d found the holy grail-
someone like me who could find romance
in pantry corners and history in Truffaut on DVD.
But I’m not 20 anymore, and I know that doesn’t
sound that different from 24
but I know a couple of things I didn’t before.

You’re a dime a dozen boy
collecting dead poets in dusty pages
and imagined lovers in celluloid smiles.
I’ve seen your kind before,
filled this dance card a few times over
and my feet never stopped hurting.

Dime a dozen boys are too cool to learn
how to dance
so they always step on my toes
and they like girls in heels and makeup
even though they say they’re feminists.
So, you’ll take up too much of my time,
but you make me forget about logic
remembering only late night arthouse theatres
cool summer air and kisses that taste
like movies.
You make me forget everything that doesn’t
remember 10 times better than it really was.
So let me get this silly love poem stuff out of the way
before we start building memories I’d be better off
forgetting.

~ by caralisapowers on May 25, 2007.