Bite More / Taste Less -------> (Ramblings)

Ramblings of a alleged realist, supposed poet, and apparently ambitious something-or-other.

Jurassic Parking Lot

 

Durham is famous for its dinosaurs.

I used to think they were real,

and I was going to ride one but

when we got out of the car I saw that

they weren’t moving, and I just

thought they were sad, or old,

but now I know they’re just statues.

 

Someone stole the head of the Brontosaurus

when I was in 7th grade, but

they gave it back.

 

That’s the one I would have ridden –

the Brontosaurus.  We were going to

march out of the museum parking lot

and take a triumphant walk through

the bare-knuckled woods near 9th street, and 

we were going to tear down some trees

and sit on a few cars, and I was going to

feel safe because

I’m riding a freaking dinosaur.

 

 

 

And we were going to wander down Angier Avenue

which stumbles through

twisted trees like the gang signs

in the fingers of its children,

and we were going to stop in front of that sketchy

prostitute motel off of the 85 exit,

and I was going to shout

“You’re all princesses!  Each and every

one of you! ” and the pimps were

going to go for their guns,

but decide to run when they saw that

I’m riding a freaking dinosaur.

 

We were going to go home the back

way down Holloway, past Grove Park

where the houses look like

sad, old people in their rocking chairs

and they were going to yell at us to slow down.

But we were going to race past Ashley’s house anyway

and the trees in her front yard

were going to wave their hands with the rain

and she was going to join them

and be so, so impressed

at how well

I’m riding a freaking dinosaur.

 

 

We were going to go home

to my house in Greenwood

and he was going to place

his head through my bedroom window  

and we were going to pull an all-nighter.

But our sleepover was going to be interrupted

by four gunshots off in the distance

and he was going to shudder

in fear,

and I was going to console him

and get to be the strong one.

 

He was going to be there with me

in the morning,

in the kitchen

when my parent’s unwashed words would

finally spill out of their mouths

like sad, old silverware,

when they would tell my brother and I

they were getting divorced,

and we were going to

run off, the three of us. 

And he was going to run

as fast as he could

and we were going to hold on

as tight as we could

and I was going to feel safe

as long as I was riding

that dinosaur.

 

And on the days when I forget

I go back to the museum

and he reminds me

who the strong one is.