No Words

Strange title for a poem…

I’ll just make something up

as usual, like everyone does

in their thirst for something real,

in their hunger for another fiesta.

There was one next door last night.

I looked at it from my window above.

The music was strangely not Mexican loud.

It was a celebration of a birthday or a

graduation…I couldn’t tell.

Typical aftermath this morning…

tables with empty bottles,

napkins strewn on the ground,

a few balloons still hung on a wall.

I wonder if they remember what happened. 

Life is beautiful in moments…in others

not so.

Many moments make up history, though

memory fails, and the books are full of lies

that have an agenda.

Fortunately, it’s still now, the only time there is,

fresh, on the spot, in case anyone is looking.

I want to forget about the whole thing,

all the conclusions,

all the certainties,

all the dogmas,

all the baggage, 

like stones people lug around

thinking that it helps.

What would we do without it,

the shoe box full of memorabilia,

clung to as proof we had a life?

Mistaken identity, the “fallacy of

misplaced concreteness.”

Like all the poetry I wrote,

thinking it made a difference.

Fat chance.