The Norfolk Ballet '84 (Broken)

Squatting in the ambiance of stripper perfumed smoke haze,

shot glass run-off, PBR and cellulite unbounded.

***

Journey, Styx and Benatar careen off restroom mirrors,

evaporating into stalls where sickly souls go praying.

***

Echoes of my emptiness tear at my gut this Tuesday,

distilling into drunken numbing Huey Lewis hatred.

***

"Owner of a Lonely Heart" now soundtrack to my musings,

as "Lovely Lisa" takes the pole to creepy stage announcements.

***

I'm lost on Granby/Little Creek as Tuesday ticks to Wednesday,

then stagger out into the dark of early morning summer.

***

I hail a cab back down into my Pier 12 home and office,

tripping down the passageways toward berthing slumber solace.

***

Crawl into my bunk in back and pass out until morning;

rinse, repeat and hope to God this Groundhog's Day stops playing.

***

Some twenty six long years gone by since stumbling into stasis;

still, Pavlov's Dog lives in my ear when certain songs sing to it.

***

Those wretched tunes I just can't stand, they take me back to Clancy's,

when optimism for my fate had not yet died exhausted.

***

I sit here now and contemplate my mindset in those shitholes,

and wonder why - just why the hell - I look on those days fondly.

***

It could just be the booze, or that I was finally free of Everett,

or fantasies of hearts of gold wrapped up in 80's muzak.

***

In the end I think it's probably something a bit more basic:

it was a time when the future held a promise now since broken;

it was a time that I myself was not yet - not quite - broken.

Quite broken -

and facing the wrong direction looking to become whole again.