Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

May 02, 2004


My parents say they'll make me
a big birthday dinner. So,
four hours later than planned,
I'm drinking gin 'n' juice
when they finally arrive, and I'm thinking,
"All right, this is really it this time, this time
I'm not gonna be phased."

So I make them take me
to this Mexican joint you know the type,
loud, familiar years ago, cheap sangria
with ice and apples; then the whole
time my father's on about how he'll die
young like the rest of his side;
my mother's grating her lips
on the fronts of her teeth

(because the other party
of six got the table she
really wanted) and is seriously

Surprised when she gets
my best friend wrong
that chick from high school?
No. It is actually this guy here
who I've been talking to all night
and living with for the last
five fucking years, Mom;
you know, with whom I've travelled
around the fucking globe...?

But instead of going that route
like a miracle I smile, laugh even
in the face of it all, recalling Kafka,
his damned overturned bug,
phasing the fuck out of them

And how much easier it is to deal
with the family once you've reached
drinking age, can kick at the air
drunk on an extra portion
after all, my father doesn't
even like red wine.

Posted by Delire at May 2, 2004 11:19 PM
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