Two By A.J. Huffman

Fuck Machine

 

I am invisible. Until the lights go

down and the Jack meets the Coke

(over ice, of course) a few times.

Then clink! Suddenly he sees

me. All shiny and nude

(even when I am not). And

it is perfect. For an hour

or two (on a good/rare night).

Then in the morning, he is gone

again. Or I am. And does it even matter

which one of us disappeared. We are

each dissolved back into the reality

of our own mundanity. Until further

escape is desired/required. And somewhere

as the sun goes down again,

a telephone sounds its sirened call,

that will (no doubt) lead to another inevitable

clink!

 

 

 

Happy [Hateful] Anniversary – June 5, 2012

 

The number 5 resonates from inside its markered circle.

A silly sentimental scrawl splayed beneath it

to [rein]force a remembrance

I now wish I could forget

as I sit here shredding any and all evidence

of that fateless day.

 

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

There goes the ticket stubs to the museum full of stars

and teddy bears – the perfect place for the childish dream

of “us” as a beginning . . .

 

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

There goes another picture of us in a wooded garden:

a simpleton’s smiling portrait of the happy couple

you now swear we never were . . .

 

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

There goes the dress I wore to impress you,

not realizing I was committing blasphemy in your eyes

by believing I could ever look better than the “average”

you believe I’ll never reach . . .

 

I am standing to my knees in the rubble; this piled mess

of paper, cloth, film and wish

I was a humble[r] match

capable of effectively scorching these tracks.

 

Instead it is my anger that sparks, and I who burns

on this mountainous bonfire of regret

as, finally, I realize it was I who never amounted

to more than a handful of futured ash

for you to feed to the wind.

 

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

There goes the [metaphorical] knife scarring the skin

of my breast – senselessly searching for any scrapped piece

left that might have enough faith left

to manage a solitary beat.

 

--A.J. Huffman