Serendipitydoodah

for J*me, who is leaving & Star who wrote the musical part quite a while ago

I was sitting in the past
Arranging my demons by soundtrack
When the present limped in like a leper on Prom Night
Sorry if we got off on the wrong foot
Mind if I cut in?

I was just about to write him off
When my pen
Sensing it might have to endure a night in The Wrong Part of Town
Dropped ink
Said Hey, asshole, this train is going in the wrong direction

To be fair
The train was headed exactly where the train needed to go
I was the one going the wrong way
So I got off

Had I gone just one more stop
I would have missed the last train headed in the direction I was going

So dance me a jig
A healthy mamushka for being in just the right place
At the last available time
Serendippitydooda

Now my life is headed in the right direction
Forward
Not straight
Nothing in my life is straight
Even this train bends slightly to the left
Just like my politics

The next station is Back Bay
South End
Nothing straight
The train is about to move forward
When a cute boy looking slightly familiar
Enters the train like a cliché in purple prose
And sits across from me
In exactly the same formation my ex and I used to sit in before I exed him

Oh cute boy who waltzed into my train at Back Bay
Thanks for the split of your lips
The spin of your pupils
Thanks for the jacket rubbing hat pulling down flirtation

I don't know what possessed me to unbury my cowboy hat
Or the matching leather jacket
What divine force laid out not just a complimentary t-shirt
But one that matched my shirt, my hat & my jacket
I never match

Oh cute boy whose jazz hands split atoms of square dancing oxygen
Thanks for the looping eights and zeros of your phone number
The nines with tails that bend slightly to the left
Just like the train
You who likes unshaven men with empty pens and full stomachs
Thanks for the crash course in How to Seduce a Man in Just Six T Stops

Someone get me off this train of thought
I want to pirouette through the turnstiles
Leap over smokers evicted from bars
The last barricades between you and my house

I've got to get home because
I've got your number
Even if you are iron on beautiful
Static in my head makes my judgment intensified
I said
Touch me like you want me
Touch me like I want to be
Touch me cause I want to be your sweet nothing*

I've got to get home so I can call you
I've got to get home so I can freak out
I've got to get home so I can do the monkey in my living room

Yes
The dance

Did you think I meant
I've got to get home so I can frantically masturbate and fling shit at my walls?

Ok
Maybe that too
But I was talking about the dance

I don't dance
I use up all of my rhythm in writing
If I do the Marcarena at a wedding I lose a sonnet
Everytime I jitterbug an entire chapter of my novel goes unwritten
I can't spare the words to tango with you

So don't tickle my spine with your tittering giggles
Don't move my feet with your arched brow flirtations
If I'm going to write you a love poem I've got to stand the fuck still

I'm tired of writing love poems
I want to live one

Let's be a dance
Not just a slow dance
Let's be the slow dance
Stairway to Heaven
Hotel California
November fucken Rain
Whatever overlong sappy rock ballad they play at the end of eighth grade dances

I want us to be toe sliding
Head on shoulder
Hands on waist
Neck kissing
Sway dancing

So take my hand
Let's live this present one step at a time



* a slightly tweaked to fit the poem version of thisisstar's "Sweet Nothing"

This has been a silly departure from my recent writing style. No poetasters were harmed in the writing of this ditty.