The Patron Saint of People Who Have Never Seen the Ocean
by Justin Karcher
boys wearing suits three sizes too large
always looking like they just got back from a forced funeral
they’re huffing canned air in Denny’s parking lots
the sudden euphoria is better than sex
it makes them giggle and they say things like, “United States of Aerosol”
it’s always somebody’s birthday, so they buy birthday candles from a nearby truck stop
they also buy DVDs of Marvel movies
they go to the woods
they cut open each other’s stomachs
they slide in the DVDs and act out from memory what it means to be a hero
some pass out, the ones left standing light up the birthday candles
they say things like, “In Heaven, we feed each other”
they jam the birthday candles down each other’s throats
they burst into thousands of fire ants crawling through the dirt for the rest of time
there are all kinds of courage though
single moms steal sunburnt hearses under the cover of darkness
they drive nonstop through a history of violence, into the depths of the sea
where they sing songs about exhaling all bad climates in their lungs
toolsheds and tumors passed down from generation to generation
they say things like, “Dreams from our fathers, but not for us”
they want a better life for their kids, they know when it’s time to let go
the ones left behind say things like, “They’ll come back, they always do”
so they set up inflatable pools on train tracks, fill them up with dollar store Pepto-Bismol
they say things like, “This is the ocean, this will make us feel better about everything”
they sit cross-legged in the inflatable pools trying to wash the dirt away
when the train approaches, they say things like, “This is drowning, the crunching of bones”
most Americans have never seen the ocean
killer whales singin’ in the rain, deaf girls jumping off lighthouses
shipwrecks full of treasure, drunk pirates with scissors for hands
making the most beautiful dresses in the world, oh moonlight on the beach
this is how short life really is, blessed are the people who choose to leave
they say things like, “We’re not the same people we used to be”
most of us don’t let courage take the wheel for the whole trip
most of us stay put wherever we are
hang up punching bags from trees in cemeteries
because we know that when the dead wake up
they’re either hungry or angry and it’s easier on us if they punch something
always looking like they just got back from a forced funeral
they’re huffing canned air in Denny’s parking lots
the sudden euphoria is better than sex
it makes them giggle and they say things like, “United States of Aerosol”
it’s always somebody’s birthday, so they buy birthday candles from a nearby truck stop
they also buy DVDs of Marvel movies
they go to the woods
they cut open each other’s stomachs
they slide in the DVDs and act out from memory what it means to be a hero
some pass out, the ones left standing light up the birthday candles
they say things like, “In Heaven, we feed each other”
they jam the birthday candles down each other’s throats
they burst into thousands of fire ants crawling through the dirt for the rest of time
there are all kinds of courage though
single moms steal sunburnt hearses under the cover of darkness
they drive nonstop through a history of violence, into the depths of the sea
where they sing songs about exhaling all bad climates in their lungs
toolsheds and tumors passed down from generation to generation
they say things like, “Dreams from our fathers, but not for us”
they want a better life for their kids, they know when it’s time to let go
the ones left behind say things like, “They’ll come back, they always do”
so they set up inflatable pools on train tracks, fill them up with dollar store Pepto-Bismol
they say things like, “This is the ocean, this will make us feel better about everything”
they sit cross-legged in the inflatable pools trying to wash the dirt away
when the train approaches, they say things like, “This is drowning, the crunching of bones”
most Americans have never seen the ocean
killer whales singin’ in the rain, deaf girls jumping off lighthouses
shipwrecks full of treasure, drunk pirates with scissors for hands
making the most beautiful dresses in the world, oh moonlight on the beach
this is how short life really is, blessed are the people who choose to leave
they say things like, “We’re not the same people we used to be”
most of us don’t let courage take the wheel for the whole trip
most of us stay put wherever we are
hang up punching bags from trees in cemeteries
because we know that when the dead wake up
they’re either hungry or angry and it’s easier on us if they punch something
Biography
Justin Karcher is a Pushcart-nominated poet and playwright born and raised in Buffalo, New York. He is the author of Tailgating at the Gates of Hell (Ghost City Press, 2015), the chapbook When Severed Ears Sing You Songs (CWP Collective Press, 2017), the micro-chapbook Just Because You've Been Hospitalized for Depression Doesn't Mean You're Kanye West (Ghost City Press, 2017), Those Who Favor Fire, Those Who Pray to Fire (EMP, 2018) with Ben Brindise, and Bernie Sanders Broke My Heart and I Turned into an Iceberg (Ghost City Press, 2018). He is also the editor of Ghost City Review and co-editor of the anthology My Next Heart: New Buffalo Poetry (BlazeVOX [books], 2017). He tweets @Justin_Karcher.
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