Thursday, December 25, 2008

a poem of hope for Christmas, 2008

location st. louis

statistics 1 (jesu who would like to try harder next year)
1 (semi-serious poem that could go either way)

St. Louis, Christmas 2008

All my friends
by now I thought they'd be sell-outs
but instead they are desperate.

On the verge of 30-years-old.
Barely any of us married.
One child among my great circle.
For what do we wait?
Or have we decided to end the race?
A generation that just said no
to future generations.

The one true piece of advice
I ever remember my dad giving me
was, "Don't ever go bald."
As a boy I used to say
"My dad's hair" flooop! "flew out the window."

All my friends
only care in bursts
late nights, last calls, post-love.
Without marriage and family
we need a new destination.

We haven't figured that part out yet.

I remember a second piece of advice from dad:
"If you think you're going to get into a fight,

Twice a day I wear a plastic glove and put on the
chemicals. And I keep my hair.
Is this what he meant?

I will text my friends this Christmas.
I will say a prayer for my dad.
Almost 30, country is rivers of
dollars on fire, alone, lonely us all
beautiful brave only with words, alone
I say to us all, Rejoice!
We are our families.
We are raising
each other
brothers + sisters + mothers + sons by concurrently being alive
(and that enough proof of our relations).

Knees and palms and foreheads
pressed to rugs
in infinity prayers

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