… incomplete …
Begun February 7, 2008
Finished February 17, 2008
If I live a million years,
I’ll never be Tom Waits,
never carry gravel in my
voice box like tattered luggage,
pump smoke from battered
heart through whiskey thin veins,
wear bad luck in my fingerprints
like a signature. Not in a million years.
I still wouldn’t win the Heisman
Trophy. I wouldn’t win it over
and over, no matter how many
childhoods I’m given to squander.
These bones are too fragile for
stardom, this skin too thin for fame.
Even with a million tries.
And if I had the patience of the
universe, I could count the salt
in the sea before I could list the
things I’ll never be. But here, if you’ll
take my hand and wile away this
eternity with me, I’ll begin –
alphabetically, for your convenience:
alone, bereft, chastened, discontent,
empty, forsaken, glum, hapless …
2 comments:
I really love this.
I've been fretting over whether to comment, because I feel like that is a loaded response. Have I been reading the others and not liked them? (not the case) Have I not read the others? (actually the case) Why couldn't I be arsed to read the others then, fer crying out loud? (shamefully lazy) Now that I have commented, does future non-comment imply not liking, or not reading? (...)
So I go round about, as you can see, my brain, she is a muddled and confusing place. But as I was whizzing through bloglines...I don't know if the words Tom Waits jumped out at me or what, but I stopped and read. And left the tab open, and read it again. And left if open, and dear hubby came home and did his just got home from work computer reading, walked out of the office and said "that is a really great poem". I just had to let you know.
Lesley (still known as owensmom in some places)
Thanks! I'm glad Tom Waits drew you in. I'm pretty proud of that first stanza.
No need to fret over commenting. I almost never comment anywhere - I'm king of the lurkers. It's just nice to know people are dropping in.
Ed
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