Saturday, February 6, 2010

“non, je ne regrette rien”

she’s the sweetest thing on wheels today

she’s water-cooler cool

she’s hatless and inspired

she’s rattling lost teeth in a mason jar

she’s popeyed and wondering about puce buttons on a sleeve

she’s calling all the pigeons by name

she’s breaking every weak-kneed weekend heart around here

she’s throwing daffodils from the tops of parking garages

she’s bundled up in all of my favorite colors

she’s chucking M&Ms at streetlights

she’s using parking meters for walking sticks

she’s hassling cops for quips

she’s moonlighting as a cellist

she’s a hurt worth having

she’s championing paper rings

she’s losing everything on purpose

she’s not so lucid anymore

she’s baking cookies only to sink them in a bathtub filled with milk

she’s a hard nut to crack

she’s scraping off moss from the rocks at the beach with a screwdriver

she’s on the hunt for xylophones

she’s a well-fed hamster sleeping in its wheel

she’s going on the lam with headphones and a jar of mud

she’s only open at odd hours

she’s arm wrestling sofas

she’s bunting with two strikes

she's directing traffic with a baton

she’s walking across a thousand football fields

she’s impressed by the wings of moths

she’s a jukebox playing in a deserted café

she’s guiding the sound of goodbye back home

she’s picking somebody else’s nose

she’s saving up her moodiness for a sunny day

she’s surfing on a rocking chair

she’s a sucker for a guy in cowboy boots

she’s never met a clown she liked

she’s laughing at the weather report

she’s incessantly mischievous

she’s mad at the wallpaper

she’s a whooping cough away from forever blue skies up ahead

she’s who she is not sometimes

she’s a rollicking and a reeling and a face hid under a too-big-for-her-head hood

she’s a little like everyone whom you’ve ever known

she’s only what she is and nothing more

she’s a mustache away from a complete game

she’s ollying over cartons of eggs

she’s a mushroom cloud of forgiveness

she’s lapping up Cactus Cooler from a breadbox-size mug in the shade of Juniper trees

she’s a missed bus

she’s close enough but not enough too

she’s mending the chances that you never took into harmless dungeon shoes

she’s replacing the sash on the curtains with a giant rubber band

she’s hanging rusty bicycle chains from the chandelier

she’s cutting up an accordion with a paring knife

she’s pouring gasoline on a busted typewriter

she’s sewing the seams in the remains of her dreams

she’s pulling the plug on the ordinariness of being her

she’s changing tires with a dowsing rod

she’s putting on airs for the hummingbirds

she’s at a loss for pictures

she’s doing the Lindy Hop during an earthquake

she’s swallowing gum

she’s hard to impress

she’s a pretzel in a bag of crackers

she’s pulling for all the underdogs

she’s had more than her share of disappointment

she’s mistaking angels for mildew stains

she’s got snowflakes of lint in her hair

she’s up a tree

she’s got a platypus slowly cooking in a Crock-Pot by a vase of wilting geraniums

she’s a know-nothing living in a do-nothing world

she’s craving salt in a life that’s all freshwater

she’s a budding bloom of cheerfulness

she’s quoting Günther Anders at the dinner table

she’s all marmalade and hokie charades

she’s mustering rag dolls of courage

she’s swindling lampposts out of their light

she’s intermittently intrepid

she’s as gullible as Saint Francis of Assisi

she’s overly combustible at times

she’s inclined towards relish

she’s dangling from the Big Dipper’s bowl

she’s not a leap but a jump

she’s constructing a chain-mail suit out of duct tape

she’s roughing it in style

she’s imploding while catching raindrops in her bellybutton

she’s the aftereffects of jasmine on the breeze

she’s outlandish

she’s slicing radishes into thin strips

she’s outrunning machines

she’s murdering popsicle sticks

she’s one of nothing and everything of one

she’s splintering into the eyes of deceit

she’s being wheeled away on a candy-cane chariot

she’s understanding of leafless trees

she’s fourth and inches

she’s cutting her own hair in the bathroom mirror

she’s got eyes bigger than any circus tent

she’s hailing cabs with candelabras

she’s throwing a tuba in the ocean on a moonless night

she’s hastily scrawling my name on the hood of a parked car with a highlighter

she’s all out of freckles

she’s busy listening to the sky dance

she’s a part-time thing

she’s yodeling in an empty parking lot at sunrise

she’s just a paint can away from being alright

she’s getting out while the getting still gets her goat

she’s everything that a dime won’t buy back from your dreams

she’s nothing earth shattering

she’s not you

she’s never me

she’s just always sometimes what everyone will forever be