My Life Has Become A John Cusak Movie

I've been renting movies
like a cheap addiction
to get closer
to the blue-eyed girl
who works at the video store
and smiles when I forget
my rental card.
It's a silent joke we share.
Most nights I don't
watch the movies I rent.
It's worth ninety-nine cents
to see those blue eyes
scan the computer screen
for my membership number.
Sometimes I walk by the store
on lonely autumn nights.
She waves with just her fingers.
I bury my hands
in my coat pocket
and lift my chin an inch
like the popular kids
used to do in high school.
Lately I've realized
my life has become
a John Cusak movie.
I need to get out more.
She also realized this
the other night.
When I forgot my rental card,
she didn't smile.
She just shook her head
and sighed.
Her eyes fell
like sandbags
to the computer screen.




The Ants

She screams from the other room.
She found
another ant
crawling across the kitchen floor.
I stop the poem I'm writing
and tell her
that there's very little
I can do
about the ants
in our apartment,
other than step on them.
I tell her
that it has the right
to crawl across our kitchen floor
in search of crumbs,
and as long the ant
is willing to risk
getting crushed to death
under the weight
of our shoes,
then we must commend
its bravery.

She doesn't find this funny.
Nor is she willing
to kill the little son of a bitch.
It's cruel, she says.
Murder should be my job.
I explain to her
that I'm not going to kill the ant.
It's not war.
I hear her sigh
from the other room.
Silence.
Ten minutes later she screams again.
She found another ant
crawling in the cupboards.




Blonde

Blonde. Back straight.
Chest out. Firm ass
packed tightly in faded
blue jeans. Perched
on a bar stool. Smiling.
Boys. Huddled around
her. Lust drips like liquor.
Money folded between his
fingers. The next drink on him.
And the one after.
Red lipstick. On the filter
of a cigarette. On the rim
of a martini glass. A sip.
A coy toss of blonde hair.
Boys melt. Stiff cocks.

She leaves. Alone.
Purse untouched.
Proud to be a woman.
Mouth full of night air.
Tongue kissing
the horny moon.



The Curtain Falls on College

I felt the curtain fall
and the lights come on
the other night
when boxed in a bathroom stall
with my knees
stuck
to a grimy tile floor
and arms
wrapped
around an unflushed toilet.
I finally understood
when facing the shame
of walking back
into the bar
and meeting eyes
with the guy
who listened to me vomit
that college was over.
And my once impressive
partying skills
have somehow turned
into sad alcoholism.


- Nathan Graziano 2001