Press Play

In the vein of a monologue. See casket scene in 'Last Tango in Paris' and imagine it as a poem.

I wonder where you are. Four years feels like a popcorn break

before we settle down and press on play. It's in my head,

our plot, our shaky structure, I was watching

a thing last night that reminds me of you, I wonder

if you saw the one in the future with the lovers if you'd

think of me. I doubt it. I wonder who you're with.

What city? What country? Are you locked up or roaming free?

Do you answer emails, would you set your hair on fire?

Would you cut my shorts up into paper snowflakes?

My shoelaces into smithereens, buttons into void?

Would you grate across my walls with the butcher knife,

laugh as I came home and it sat on my desk,

'cause you forget it was there, didn't you?

I forgot you were ever here, I thought, but now

I can't help thinking that you're out, and I have an hour or two

before it's time to get you half a mile down the boulevard

where you're sitting in your car with an empty tank of gas

and muttering from some depth that I can only balk at.

Who's saving you now? Who'd want to, where are my

medals and awards, my pictures of us dancing in the waves,

you in that hot pink bathing suit I got for you, I even got the

size right. I bet you're glad I didn't cut that up for you.

I remember your 'I'm sorry's', how they lasted for about

three minutes, until the next phone call. I can't remember

the last time I saw you, there's this blank, an empty reel

of film I'm watching, scanning into black, craning close

to figure out if this darkness is a part of art, or if it's

some mistake. How much longer will I wait? I turn it off

but there's no difference. How can I know that you won't animate

in front of me when I think four years have passed, and I'm

filling up my tank of gas with breeze and lift in mind, how do I know

you won't be stranded on the corner next to me or waiting in my kitchen

with the butchers knife, laughing it was all a joke and you love me, and

you're back, you never left, you had to wait for me to be the man

who couldn't see you from behind the screen, and then you'd finally press play.

I hope you know, I'll never be that man. I hope you know...

I wonder where you are.

Reviews

[Bluefire]

It reminded me of a Broadway show, there was imagery yet the words rang like a song.
It's like the very moment you start reading, you've pressed play.
I love it, it was like hearing a beautiful love story and watching a horror movie at the same time.
Well done. ^^

[Thaddius]

thanks so much, your review is clever. The love story - horror duality is perfect, I didn't set out for it to be that way when I met the girl, but that's exactly what it became. Glad it came across

[Bluefire]

You're welcome, and thanks. ^^

[Miranda Richard]

I liked this a lot. It's not really my style, but good all the less. I loved how you used questions to emphasize your feelings. My favorite line(s):
there's this blank, an empty reel

of film I'm watching, scanning into black, craning close

to figure out if this darkness is a part of art, or if it's

some mistake.

[Jessica Lynn Polley]

I love this poem. I felt every line in a way i wish I did not relate to.

How can I know that you won't animate
in front of me when I think four years have passed

I felt like this line punched me right in the heart. I always have some unfounded fear/hope that I will get to confront certain people that have managed to cut me just a little to deep. What would I do? What would I say? Probably none of things that constantly cross my mind.

I love your work

[Matching Socks]

Holy s**t!
Pardon that...
Such intensity. It's exquisite. The imagery was incredible.
I want to thank for this: Would you cut my shorts up into paper snowflakes?

Because I think this is brilliant and I'm ALWAYS looking for creative revenge.

[Thaddius]

oh no, look what I've created!

[Matching Socks]

A b***h....

[Matching Socks]

JUST KIDDING