Thursday, June 28, 2007

Shirt Like a Couch


Title from Grumble Grumble (MySpace)

I remember that between catnaps on our old couch
I would have dreams with one defining characteristic:

A blinding golden light sneaking sideways through our slate-grey window shades
and creeping along the dark oak-paneled walls,
bouncing through the thick dust that hung in the air because
we lived in a perpetually spinning snow globe.

The light would come and dance an Irish step on my eyelids,
grinning so wide that I could see every off-white tooth
even though I was sitting way, way in the back of the theater
on one of the stuffingless red chairs that they were reupholstering a row at a time,
starting from the front and starting six years before
that first time I saw you dance
and six years and five days before we first met
because it took me two shows a day for three days to work up the nerve
for the blue-fabric'd seats near the front
and it took me another two days to work up the nerve
to accept our mutual friend's invitation to go out with you both afterwards.