The Pyramids at Midnight
January 1st, 2008
In transit, on the mid night train
with all the derelicts sober enough to beat last call.
The cars are full of soju induced erythemic faces
taunting the -10 winter malady
I’m looking around smiling–
at the polka dot brown socks with hot pink tennis lace
making eye contact with the only Asian who traded his long slick hair
for frizzy short spurs of electricity painfully hot ironed into style,
the arguing old folks with Cuban hats and gold watches
sucking his front teeth back in through a heated debate,
ignored by the open mouth drooling college guy
passed out and clutching on to his Gucci purse
while the 50 year old lady laughs at 18 year old drunk intrepidity
wrapping arm and professing, “I love you!”
It’s 13 till 12, on new years 2007
and somehow I’m expecting a streaker or an accidental Led Zep cut
blared on public speakers at the end of the line
List of my new year’s eve:
nails are done, hair is straightened
first time I fit into single digit sizes
cracking my neck into action,
plans for Angkor Wat are becoming a back room brawl
contest of wills and stare downs
back at home at the stroke of midnight
…it doesn’t match my necklace,
hmm, nice to hear my words,
contemplating diamonds and stories,
Waiting for “Ken” in a big white horse
is like an atheist telling the story of Jesus,
so now I logically weigh the Great Barrier Reef
against my girly whims:
The worst thing about writing your own story,
is that the only point of reference is you.
The best thing about writing your own story,
is that the possibilities endless,
the world boundless,
and your audience infinitely unique
