Monday, July 13, 2015

The Rotting Gift

“God gave you a gift,

a beautifulstrange
caramelhotbutter
cherrylippedjaggedchin
gift,

and it took you to places
no one ever knew.

You fed your darling
mutant child,
shined a light
up under all the
maggot infested
earthworm crawling
guck on the bottom
and somehow made it
all
wonderous,
and the gift led you
to where the secrets
were hidden.

You knew you were
gifted,
but you didn’t care.
You let it rot
in the back of the closet,
moldy with black fuzz.
It needed light,
it needed air.

Now, you’re this
soft, aging suburban
Beanie Baby,
no hard edge,
no juice
where it counts.

Go ahead
and comfort yourself:
tell yourself
you sacrificed your gift
to take care of
your "blessings".

You had so much
promise,
so much fire,
but you pissed it all away.

You could’ve been a
superstar.
We could’ve changed
the world.

Enjoy your widescreen TV
with 200 shopping channels
and your paid-off mortgage.

You now have
exactly
what everyone else has.

Hooray for you.

May you never regret
your decision
to forsake your gift,
schmuck.”

10 comments:

  1. You knew you were
    gifted,
    but you didn’t care.
    You let it rot
    in the back of the closet...

    Your commentary is very much on point.

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  2. Hmmm, it almost reads as an admonition to yourself — but I hope not, as you are in fact nurturing and sharing your gift of poetry. We do need to take care of ourselves and our families in practical ways too, I think; but 'selling out' in favour of consumerism and status is something else again. I've never regretted giving my life to poetry instead of putting it second to a more lucrative occupation.

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  3. Ah, to throw a gift away and kick yourself for it.

    I like this!

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  4. Yeah, but those big flat screen TVs are really nice! Sometimes being a mensch is a good thing.

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  5. Light under a bushel is a darkened paradise -- gifts are costly though to the life and the art and the heart are ever at war. While I can understand the flight of the subject away from that cost, I sure appreciate the rage of the speaker tracing the arc of that loss.

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  6. Oh good lord NOT the aging suburban Beanie Baby! The horror! I'm dropping for a few pushups RIGHT NOW. Gah!
    (Seriously, the horror. This is a cautionary tale!)

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  7. You and Annie Lamott are on the same wavelength. We must remember... don't die with a broken heart because you ran the rat race and gave up your own grace.

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  8. Holy hells. This is raw and uncompromising. I really, really like it!

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