Always An Inspiration
- I was seven steps away,
- And you three slippery inches
- But I'd never been good with words
- And even worse with physics
- And I asked you why, asked
- “Where were the signs?”
- And you shook your head and smiled.
- You'd smiled a lot that week.
- “I'm slick, remember?
- If I don't want to be caught,
- I can lead you on forever.”
-
- And it looked like everything,
- Everything was hanging onto nothing,
- Nothing more steady than a strong breeze
- And couldn't I make you remember?
- The way we'd scream “I'm back, Sheridan!”
- And whisper something about “stormy smiles”
- And mumble through lyrics we couldn't decipher,
- Fingers operating madly on invisible instruments
- That looked more like conniption fits than musicianship?
- Wasn't that good enough?
- But I was so short on words!
-
- If only I knew what to say, if only I had a writer,
- If only I was a writer.
- Or maybe a scripted sentimentalist
- With a lexicon of liberating don't-give-ups.
- Anything but the b-movie sidekick
- With a fistful of one-liners
- And the kind of shifty grin that only works
- When in response to the Hero's wit
- Because right now I couldn't grin to save my life
- Or yours.
-
- When you turned around and stepped back down
- Ending your brief love affair with gravity
- And practically collapsing into the concrete
- All I could think about was how I couldn't say anything
- And how it would have been my fault.
- I spent every day in the library
- Picking up phrases like loose change
- And swearing that I'd never,
- Never again be short on words.