Poetry

Night Thoughts

Chris, I says to myself,
why are you loading the dishwasher at 2 AM?
’cause look here buddy, myself replies,
our brain is running from uncomfortable truths.
Our back is getting crookeder by the day,
and sitting at home isn’t doing us any favors,
and you talk to too many people,
so forget about Steam sales,
and remember the patient books,
and box up the gifts we’ve saved;
only send the best of ’em.
Dear lord, I says to myself,
only send the best of ’em?
Damn right, myself replies,
for if we’re to share ourselves and our lives,
we’d better make sure we only give as much as we can.
Is that a lot or a little?
It’s everything.
Our best thoughts, our truest feelings, our finest words,
arrayed like a coat full of medicine,
or a belt holding swords,
to heal the good people
and repel the rest –
ay, there’s the rubba dub dub.
How many in the tub?
Sweet Jesus, I says to myself,
we don’t even have a tub!
I know, myself replies,
but if we’re gonna dream a team effort,
we gotta get the biggest ship available
and fill it with the sharpest minds
and truest hearts the world over.
Now wouldn’t that be grand?
Here’s your ticket –
not mine, not myself’s, but yours –
a person entirely distinguishable from me,
and beautiful in myriad ways,
with strong legs and eager eyes
and thirty-thousand questions
that each take around thirty years to really dig into,
so we’re gonna fly that ship all over
until we’re all over, you feel me?

This might be a message in a bottle,
addressed to a particular personage,
but hey, the sentiment applies to a lot of folks;
go, see the world with your friends,
and for the love of all,
leave the place better than when you found it.

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