I promise you this
my midlife crisis
will be fucking weird.
No red convertibles or girls
young enough to be my daughter.
No recycling of the macho capitalist
dreams that brought me to this point
in the first place.
No, I’m driving up to that Alpaca farm,
the one too close to the highway,
I’m busting Randle out of that joint.
He looks so uncomfortable after they shave him,
all the tiny bits of hair itching under his collar.
I’ll let him know he is my equal, my spirit animal,
and we’ll grow our hair out and get high
On absinthe and existential dread,
And talk like ex patriot artists
With exaggerated American accents,
Eating all the free popcorn at the bar.
Except we won’t be pretending
We have it all figured out.
Instead we will be hopped up
On the knowledge that we know
Absolutely, fucking, nothing.
Our brains lubricated by big unfinished thoughts
And natural butter flavor.
And I’ll open a tab for my anxiety
Serve it tea and whiskey
And play three card Monte
But I’ll palm the queen.
And when it accuses me of cheating
I’ll flip it around and answer
“That’s a serious accusation.
You risk looking pretty foolish without any proof.
People have been shot for less?”
And I’ll kick Randle under the table when he
Starts laughing and risks exposing my bluff.
And not knowing his own strength,
he’ll kick me right back
so sharply it summons a primal cry,
that shocks my anxiety into apologizing
for ever accusing me
of any underhanded behavior,
right before it retreats into a silence
I never knew existed.
And that silence
will trigger a paralyzing addiction
to peace. And I will hear
all those oxygen starved thoughts hidden
under the constant noise
of that self-sabotaging inner voice,
along with my outer voice’s irresistible need
to fill every moment, to not give those thoughts
room to breathe.
And they’ll tell me
“It’s ok. You’ve done enough for today,
get some damn rest for a change.”
And no amount of 90 mile per hour wind in my hair
or misguided illusion of youth
will ever,
feel that free.
– My Other Sports Car is an Alpaca © Mike Chernoff 05/14/2023
From the collection Steer into the Skid
Chernoff Writing.com 