Jul/10

15

Recommendation of Ashes

I get called positive a lot.
“You’re a positive guy.”
Why does it sound like a racial slur when I hear it?
Like a show, applause thunders in my ear, the lights
Shut off and the theater empties out.

People shake my hand, tip theory hats but make
No move to join the number, or shuffle alongside. They travel aways, a way.
How to forgive a person his trespasses: believe in nothing with the belief that you are to expect nothing, and you’re crazy if you do.

I see the glare of impatience, the “yeah, come again, Charlie” roll of the eyes. The glad-its-not-me grin and stale nod of approval.
The theater’s now as black as pitch. The stage hands that lent to the glory
are now heading back to the Bowery cigarettes perched on bottom lips,
half-crushed packs in ripped back pockets, sucking in black clouds of reality.
They raise tattooed middle fingers in unison back at the poor bastard they left looking flush into the spotlight on stage.
Is he bound to make it? Then he’ll turn it off himself.
The one on stage hops off to watch who will take his place.

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