Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Man overboard

Today I’m strutting down Queen Street
and the mannequins and the billboard models
they’re looking at me
                               ‘cause I’m twenty-one days
to man-overboard status and learning to swim.
I’m a resume printed on thick company letterhead.
I’m a buried treasure chest of stolen office supplies.
I’m practicing
                    my answers, handshake, dramatic exit.
I’m a bitten tongue, a lit match hungry for bridges.
I’m a shot of vodka you gargle on a late lunch
to wash the office shit talk off your breath.

Friday lunch on Queen Street West by Sookie

        Ever fantasize about burning a bridge? Not literally! I mean making a dramatic exit in which you irreparably destroy your relationship with a lover, friend, boss, etc., but it feels sooo worth it. Ever actually done it?


Dorkmaster Flek said...

Only yelling at people I've never met when crossing the border. :) I guess that doesn't count as burning bridges.

Jerry said...

It's tempting, I know. But I would try not to do it, for the sake of the other person. The fleeting pleasure and momentary relief obtained from such an act would be followed by a lengthy torment of conscience.

I feel no remorse over yelling at inanimate objects, though. It's quite therapeutic.

LadyFi said...

I love your poem...

I have burnt a bridge to my sister many decades ago.. Luckily, we re-built it some years later.

Blissed-Out Grandma said...

I never did burn bridges, but I wanted to. When a well-to-do boyfriend ammounced that he was moving away, I fantasized about slitting the bases of his cacti (which were tied up so wouldn't fall over right away), slitting the backs of his oriental rugs (but leaving them in place so he wouldn't notice until someone walked on them and they began to slide apart) and slitting the outlines of some of the expensive art prints on the walls. Wow, I was one bitter woman! But no, I couldn't have done it.