I suppose this is narrative, but I'm not sure...oh well. otherwise enjoy.
CL
the design booth
smiling faces full of laughter and secrets
patterned in soliloquies of heartbreaks and makeups
that could rival rocket riots.
one girl one boy:
sandwiched in the plastic casing of the design booth.
the overhead voice replies
anything, anything…
she wants to be an actress
preferably of the french kind
who parades around at cannes
with that look of abject superiority.
all the right fashions fit
on her slender (exquisitely tanned) body
and people fall at her feet
to bring her grapefruit juice and pomegranate seeds.
he wants to be a millionaire
riches floating down the river of gold that
scampers through the backyard of his
gilded mansion, twenty acres it is
twenty acres of douglass fire and prickly pines
twenty acres of wilderness
such wilderness: wilderness to get lost in
and the overhead voice replies
anything, anything…
she wants to be an astronomer
just like caroline herschel.
maiden of the stars
daughter of the fiery comets of the sky
with her sheets of calculations
and one trusty telescope.
searching and finding
answers to all questions the universe holds
in its curving sphere.
she wants to caress the stars
with imagination and passion pricked fingers
and bleed with the knowledge of thousands.
minds like brahe, galileo and cassini
purging themselves on in her ink well,
dotting the heavens with numbers and abstracts.
he wants to be an explorer
like cartier and pizzaro
plundering the far reaches of the known world.
captain of thousands
love of one.
pillaging the gold from the incas
and gunpowder of the east.
the knowledge of many
served on a silver serving platter
for him to gorge himself on.
like champlain he braves the rugged mountains
to find the lake of dreams.
thinker, dreamer, maverick, eccentric
son of the seas
liege of the land.
carting tea from the indies
capturing men from the west
and toasting it all to --
conquest.
she wants to be a mistress of the everglades
running, scampering through the long grasses
that tickle her bare feet.
scarring off alligators as she goes
wandering into memories of pirates
and long awaited treasures neverfound
neverclaimed.
he wants to be a carpenter of new english winter
broken and tired, but happy
worn hands grasping the tools of trade
parading the workmanship of a true soul
not famished but yearning all the same.
like his father, he wants to build boats
to sail across the sea.
but the lines and ropes of commerce
hold him down, just enough
that he’s tethered nine months of the year
but he’s still happy.
and the mantra goes on
anything, anything…
but most of all
she wants to be loved
not just in the romantic sense,
but for being there on cold calcutta nights
as they raced the dawning sun.
and
he wants to be held
tight enough to hurt
so that he knows that
he is still alive,
and can still feel,
and is part of something
much bigger than
all of his singular inebriated moments
combined.
slowly the dying monotonous voice fades and blurs at the edges of conscious sentiment
anything, anything…
and anything
becomes something
in the cold plastic cave of the design booth
where
one boy one girl
take black and white pictures of themselves
for posterity.
Gender:
Points: 8846
Reviews: 531