That time comes back to me nicely
as a spliced up montage of debauchery,
a dicey collage of sot tampered memories
lacking any solid form
or sort of productive clarity,
Hilarity transformed from stacks
of boredom and coors,
that when packed concisely together, the tethered chemistry
lasted a fast,
gassed-up year and a half of obscenities -
Three friends, mid-to late twenties,
a wide-range of pretend and fake responsibilities,
which facilitated the ability
for us three to switch back sprinting
into the tinted pitch black city,
often high on something and far passed tipsy,
hitching rides to whichever bar provided the necessary possibilities -
meaning AUX privilege,
coors pitchers,
and shots of anything.
Most nights brought us to Marathon
whereupon we’d subject the unwilling throng
to our same old songs and prolonged conversation,
Trading shirts, making up fake identifications,
gracing the annoying and loitering strangers
Who sidled to our table with our retraced adventures,
entertaining our interests only
for we couldn’t be less bothered by anybody but us three.
The seat of our pants were being easily ridden,
as the peak of our chance to be free wheeling was dimming,
fitted and pitted against the advancing stupor
we knew was the inevitable expanse of our futures.
An expanse we acknowledged then promptly disregarded,
couldn’t be bothered to apologize
for not wanting to constantly despond, too fond
of our current exploits to consider the next points.
Lord knows we abhorred those posed thoughts - that existential fodder -
avoided and forgoed, then promptly forgotten.
One story for ya,
overserved as per tradition, we pitched in,
lifting our glasses before drifting past the cast
of faceless, extraneous witnesses.
Turning outside, Burnside deserted just as we liked it,
tempting our plight to strut right up the paved yellow stripes,
the well known walk home chuckling at the buzzed patrons
we’d puzzled and roped into exploits for our own delight.
Once home, we opened the window and poured more coors
before deciding exploring and touring the other
floors of the condo was the only option for sure.
But inside was boring, the scaffolding wrapping
the outside structure was far more absorbing and
we couldn’t ignore its intrigue anymore.
The appealing jungle gym clung in the darkness,
hung for our likeness, pleading and needing us to embark it. So fuck it,
out we went, venturing about our newfound playground, unbidden we
skittered around the perimeter, considering no neighbor or danger
while figuring our route, not lingering to think a single thing through.
And as usual we pursued nothing but what stunts lay right in front of us.
Plus it was two am, on a rusty roof made gem, and our crew
were the only slew of fools still tooling til then. Anyway who was observing
three deserving and self-serving renters swerving up to the penthouse,
… but then a shout:
“What are you doing out there?” Fuck, uh oh.
“What unit do you own?” Hah, wouldn’t you like to know.
“I’m going to report you!” Sure, and tell them what?
“You’re having a dream!” We yelled loudly as rebut,
“Go back to your sleep!” We added proudly as we cut
back through the scaffolding, laughing our asses off,
Apprehended we dashed around bends, descending ladders, scattering
the residue, screws and cig butts, an uninhibited threesome
exhibiting freedom, the night lights of our building guiding us right.
To this day I can’t remember, just how we rendered a track back from that bender,
But there it was our open window, curtains billowing we dove into couch pillows,
A perfect end to a hero’s excursion.
And just like its started,
That time ended quickly. Those fickle
futures we’d resented slipped into the present.
A beat of our lives that can’t be repeated.
Those feats and memories, albeit half faded,
dictated by a wide scope of inflated elation,
Created a kaleidoscope
Of a blinding bright wake
with us three as the boat.
And it becomes clear to me how experience is just where you seem to be now.
As a starstruck species we dream of fleeing to farflung cities,
incomparable scenery, tall peaks and white beaches,
But since we let you in on a glimpse of that time
Im certain no person can find a way to convince me
that I didn’t live as momentous a life as any kind.
On a four block radius
for a short while only
on a corner of Burnside,
in Portland, Oregon.
By Emily Menges