Jessica Triptych
I. Friday Night at the Asti
Out on the town tonight
amateurs unknown
step into the glowing bar
wrapped round each other.
The captain cleared the table
limping past grumbling
“Fifty dollar parking fine.”
Her whispered order given
Knob Creek and soda,
Maker’s over ice for me
though I’ve kept away
ever since Paul’s funeral
I feel in control
at least enough for tonight.
The transitioning woman
loudly miscommunicates
with an unhoused artist
while a dyed blonde sang
the notes from her arm tattoo
above the crowd’s din.
A drunken cacophony.
Mosaic of characters
ghosts from our past lives
obscuring communication,
disrupting focus.
Near sensory overload
my mind suffocating
trying to inhale her words.
I tried to share misery.
“Shut up and smile,”
she shouted, though my face was close.
I’d felt like a child
her brown eyes reflecting mine,
restored manhood.
There was something about her.
As the bourbon warmed our hearts
perhaps, we wondered
our lonely nightmares could end.
Two desperate souls
clinging in a crowded dive
feathered with hope
feeling normal for one night.
II. Sunday Transformation
Embraced inside sound
blinding light euphoria
from the balcony.
Brilliant joyful bliss
instantaneously felt
she is everything.
--
Carousel chorus
cerebral calliope
cotton candy child.
Rain is falling now
enormous pink crystal drops
the pressure on her.
--
There’s no magic wand
to distract her thoughts from pain
returning to bed.
Dreams very vivid
though she hurts tremendously
the smile remains.
III. Carousel
She grabbed a ring and threw
widely missing the clown’s mouth
laughing at the absurdity.
From my horse nearby, I saw her smile
the first authentic one I’d seen
not performative, in the moment.
In her heart, she was an actress
living deep beneath a chosen character
protecting her feelings within.
Previously, she’d only exhibited straight-faced
endurance of limited emotional cycles
heavily leavened by lithium.
I was stunned by the outward expression
when she thought no one was watching
happiness emanated briefly.
Suddenly, I wanted to be the ride operator
master of its speed and duration
to keep her laughter flowing.
Vanity convinced me that I was the reason
returning her joy after so much pain,
a task that gave me purpose.
If I did help her at all, it was very little,
less than wooden horse or painted clown
just a temporary amusement.
Soon after the ride ended, we did too
and when I hear she smiles today,
I still want it to be for me.
Matt Duffy is a teacher in Pajaro Valley
I. Friday Night at the Asti
Out on the town tonight
amateurs unknown
step into the glowing bar
wrapped round each other.
The captain cleared the table
limping past grumbling
“Fifty dollar parking fine.”
Her whispered order given
Knob Creek and soda,
Maker’s over ice for me
though I’ve kept away
ever since Paul’s funeral
I feel in control
at least enough for tonight.
The transitioning woman
loudly miscommunicates
with an unhoused artist
while a dyed blonde sang
the notes from her arm tattoo
above the crowd’s din.
A drunken cacophony.
Mosaic of characters
ghosts from our past lives
obscuring communication,
disrupting focus.
Near sensory overload
my mind suffocating
trying to inhale her words.
I tried to share misery.
“Shut up and smile,”
she shouted, though my face was close.
I’d felt like a child
her brown eyes reflecting mine,
restored manhood.
There was something about her.
As the bourbon warmed our hearts
perhaps, we wondered
our lonely nightmares could end.
Two desperate souls
clinging in a crowded dive
feathered with hope
feeling normal for one night.
II. Sunday Transformation
Embraced inside sound
blinding light euphoria
from the balcony.
Brilliant joyful bliss
instantaneously felt
she is everything.
--
Carousel chorus
cerebral calliope
cotton candy child.
Rain is falling now
enormous pink crystal drops
the pressure on her.
--
There’s no magic wand
to distract her thoughts from pain
returning to bed.
Dreams very vivid
though she hurts tremendously
the smile remains.
III. Carousel
She grabbed a ring and threw
widely missing the clown’s mouth
laughing at the absurdity.
From my horse nearby, I saw her smile
the first authentic one I’d seen
not performative, in the moment.
In her heart, she was an actress
living deep beneath a chosen character
protecting her feelings within.
Previously, she’d only exhibited straight-faced
endurance of limited emotional cycles
heavily leavened by lithium.
I was stunned by the outward expression
when she thought no one was watching
happiness emanated briefly.
Suddenly, I wanted to be the ride operator
master of its speed and duration
to keep her laughter flowing.
Vanity convinced me that I was the reason
returning her joy after so much pain,
a task that gave me purpose.
If I did help her at all, it was very little,
less than wooden horse or painted clown
just a temporary amusement.
Soon after the ride ended, we did too
and when I hear she smiles today,
I still want it to be for me.
Matt Duffy is a teacher in Pajaro Valley
