1.06.2008

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I found some old pictures
of a barely recognizable me
and some
other people
I thought I'd fooled;
that tattered, taped-together shrine
from my dorm room wall
no longer as relevant as then
but still somehow saying
"I told you so"
or its Spanish equivalent.

Another one jumped out in particular:
a whiskey-drunk charicature of myself
with a smile reeking of Jack Daniel's
(before its smell could turn my stomach)
and general over-compensation for an
underrated chance at It All,
my roommate egging me on at my side
not knowing that the bourbon had already won.

My demeanor in that one reminds me of how
the girls across the hall who'd befriended us
in previous semesters
said I was different
upon returning that Fall
cockier
a little too sure of myself
or pretending to be.

I didn't see it then, but now I do.



Regardless, I can't smack some sense into that kid
since the Time Machine hasn't been invented yet.
Hell, we still don't have our long-awaited Hover-Cars.

You can't change the sequence of events
that change you
and settling for a quiet New Year's Eve party
sometimes has to do.
The cork bounces off the wall, then the floor
and finally back towards me
as my partner in crime notes the irony in its trajectory.

Acknowledging his metaphor
I laugh
on the outside
and pour the ten-dollar sparkling wine into the red plastic cup.

My resolution will be
accepting that there is none
yet.

It's a tough swallow.
(Yes, that's what SHE said.)

Bottom's up.





Currently reading:
"The Collected Stories of Carson McCullers."

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