Poem: While Reading Silver Linings Playbook Before Watching the Movie Adaptation (Rough Draft?)

Standard

disk-2124210_640

It was a fast read and I related

to the inside of the character’s head,

but now, the problem is that Kenny G and his

sexy saxophone won’t get out of my head

either. It’s not torture; as a child, “Songbird”

used to lull me to sleep in the back seat

whenever he played on Adult Contemporary

radio stations.

 

But I get it, how innocent noise

can sound the way a dozen mosquito bites feel.

Like the way my mother loved the Bee Gees

but would never let “Tragedy” finish

on the cassette tape, or how

I changed the station whenever Celine Dion

covered “Feliz Navidad” every Christmas,

as we are both prone to cringing, crawling

skin in tight spaces.

 

Or, when life is going easy, and I’m having

a normal chat, or flipping pages

through a magazine at the check out line,

and someone catches me off guard

by saying “impressed” or “impressive”

I get stuck on that word and I hear it again

in your voice. Then I remember what you

told me the last time we spoke, as a throwback

played in the background, when I was

still so eager to be liked,

then a little sadness starts to fog the hour.

 

And how, it’s kind of funny (or not)

how every conversation (the song too)

leads me back to your voice,

and now this all makes sense.

Note: Well, this poem went somewhere completely different from where I intended…

Also, a little background: the most interesting and comical part of the book was how the main character would get triggered by music by Kenny G–his arch enemy. 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s