It Only Has To Make Sense To You

This poem is ridiculous.

While a wise man once told me that your poetry only needs to make sense to you, I still find this poem way too outer space to perform most of the time. Yes, it's fun. Yes, the two or three times I have performed it, I've realized that there are some lines that people can relate to. Otherwise, it's serious nonsense.

I love this poem but often finding myself wanting to brief the audience beforehand on the even more ridiculous prompt that led to this poem, asking at the end "now do you get it?" So since this is my blog, with my rules, I am going to do exactly that. The prompt to the poem (as well as I can remember it) is at the end.

Maybe you will get it. Maybe you will just enjoy the ridiculous.

Rooftop Chitchat
The dark back alleys of Boston's side streets Daddy's arm chair you in their shadow
You are alone in this city with nothing but your art
You're Mommy's Reading Room to Robin Hood arrow nothing
But beautiful and profound things with cameras and stages

We hot cocoa with extra marshmallows as we Chuck Taylor to your Cambridge apartment
You yap-box snap snap about Cracker Jack knapsacks that I can't free prize from
But guys tend to do that
Rooftop chitchat about their own interests
Long after women are on the first floor.

You grandma's gold bangle jangle with your hands
A true actor in every sense
Your voice box click clack would be gone if you were last pick in freeze tag
Could not emphasize the fire-red door next door two nights ago
Could not "you'll poke your eyes out!" to the kids in your theater workshop
Could not Oscar, Emmy, Tony your life

Your hands are Dinosaur Night Light Lite-Brites
Baby Belugas in the Deep Blue Sea
Green shag taxi cab me to 7 and 9 years old
42nd Street on Broadway
An optical illusion we thought
We had never seen
Knee, Leg, Foot, Hips
Take me to our DC Suburban upbringing that you vocally shun and desperately miss
To your backstage

And you're my brother
And for a moment I'm not sure which pajamas mom told you to wear to bed
A textile so distinct from my own
Me- yellow, fleece, footies
You- cars, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, flesh

For a moment I am jealous
Or is this envy?
I always get the two confused when my heart plays cops
Brain plays robbers
Emotions call us down to dinner

Your intensity is contagious as we sit in your apartment
You- wide-TV eyes on your craft
Me- Kristof crossword my New York Times morning

Eyes caught
Awkward love
Baseballs in oversized mitts

"Will you thank me in your acceptance speech some day?"

You look up at me, tearing yourself from your commitment to your page for a moment.

"Sar, I accept you already"

Prompt
Write about someone you know well. They are doing something with their hands. Include an exotic place (Boston?). At some point, they look at you and answer in a way that shows they have only understood part of the question. Turn all your verbs into nouns. Drink a bottle of wine.