Postmodern blues
Life is first boredom, then fear
– Philip Larkin
Perhaps you’d like to try that opening line
Again because it’s obvious from the way
You dress you don’t come here often or get
Out much anymore. And who can blame you?
Statistics show that even as I speak
Somebody’s being stabbed or shot or kicked
To death outside a nightclub not unlike
The one you’re in. Still you need to get
Out every now and again don’t you? I mean
It does you good. You can’t stay home all of
The time now can you even if you do run
The risk of getting in a fight and being hit
And suffering serious injury. Yet there’s
More chance of being run down by a car
Or struck by lightning don’t you think?
Hey you don’t say much do you?
Oh, but I do.
Or, at least, I once did. Now, what’s the point?
Maybe I was married for too long and have lost
The art of conversation. Maybe the method for pulling chicks
Is different now. My ex now marks the spot and I
Find myself in unfamiliar territory, remembering
A street, a house, and lighted windows at dusk.
By now the dinner party guests
Have fallen to impressions of American sitcoms
(Homer himself hath been observ’d to nod… Doh!)
While the boys at the club are thinking of
Getting down to some serious drinking, being full
Of piss and wind, signifying fuck all.
Oh, our podded lives lead only to the softly spoken
Platitudes of hope… Is that the time?
It seems you no sooner settle into a rhythm
You feel comfortable with when the little separations
Begin. Perhaps I’ll try that opening line again sometime –
It might just work the second time around.
