May 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Two
Miguel Garcia
Nonsense, Whiskey, Mud Puddles, and Childish Hoods

wristwatch holidays painted on sculptures
rummaging through the garbage of last years
fad,
        fading into the bowels of this years monster hit

feeling the way Sodom screamed favoritism
at Gomorrah who whimpered only slightly more controlled

when deserting we did not look back

these lines reveal my impatience with thought
and betrays my betrayal of art as thoroughly
enlightening
o well if you can't laugh sometimes why do anything?

exactly so
maybe i should get drunk
maybe i should play in a mud puddle
maybe we should all play in mud puddles while drinking
remembering what it was like to be three drunk and muddy

waking from this dream we can quit our jobs
and by some whiskey on a rainy day
skip through a park of our youth and throw ourselves at swings
and collapse where the merry-go-round used to be
wiping the sky from our eyes
while eating mud pies
making little ponds for frogs and worms
and hoping birds will like our little gifts
giggling with the thunder voicing the luminous frustrations
of the sun sulking in our delight
only whispering the echoes of our childhood

never mind this digression, I demand celebration!
so toast with me
toast to you
toast to rainbows
stretched over the clouds like shy flags
toast to memory
and its faded existence
toast to roses for mom and cards for dad
toast again for gray clouds
and the loss of our innocence and the sorrows
we can't trade in for the wisdom we neglect

and again just for the hell of it!
for not caring and the worship of scars
like marks of honor ingrained in debaucheries
of black eyes caught off guard
and moments where silence hugged you
and loved ones kissed you
and enemies dropped their guard
and the look of tomorrow
sitting patiently on the horizon
knowing we'd do it all again
just for the hell of it,
laughing, drunk, in a mud puddle