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All Out of Love

I enter Roller Kingdom skating rink
to escape the Nevada sun and take a long overdue shit.
I'm slow adjusting to the darkness
and a hangover is gathering between my eyes.
Open Arms by Journey is playing over the sound system
and suddenly I'm suffocating in a kind of vile nostalgia,
watching the kids out on the rink
holding each other awkwardly and at arms length
under a multi-colored mirror ball.
On the way to the restrooms I bump into a pre-teen girl
wearing pink skates and a pink dress.
Her bucket of popcorn spills onto the floor.
I help her pick up the kernels
and tuck a twenty-dollar bill into one of her skates.
"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you," I whisper.
"It's okay," she says.
After I unclog my plumbing I make my way to the snack bar,
buy a hot pretzel and cover it with mustard.
All Out of Love by Air Supply comes on
and I feel so depressed I want to vomit.
"I like pretzels too," I hear a voice say.
The girl in the pink dress is standing beside me.
"I've gotta have mustard on mine," I say.
"Me too."
"I'm sorry about what happened."
"Don't be sorry," she says. "It was an accident.
Plus we made friends."
"We did?"
"Yep," she says,
waving and skating backwards onto the rink.
Later at my friend Rattlesnake's
(we call him that because he's been bitten twice)
I'm nursing a hangover with a glass of Strawberry Quick
and a shrimp flavored Cup O' Noodles.
I have the Air Supply song stuck in my head
feeding on the eternal heartache within me,
so I listen to Raining Blood by Slayer a few times
to cleanse my sonic palate -
and I don't have a difficult time at all
deciding which of the two songs is more evil.

11 Oct 13

Rated 9.5 (9.7) by 2 users.
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i'm so lost without you! i know you were right, believing for sooo long! lol
haha, "all skate, it's aaaall skate" :)

air supply, definitely more evil.
whenever i think of air supply or journey i think of roller rinks and i also think of bottlecaps, that's what i used to get. the root beer ones are the best.

another great write. the clogging the toilet was funny. tucking the money in her skates was the highlight of this. your kind soul travels miles.
i have a heartache inside me as well. sometimes i really think it's going to kill me.
 — mandolyn

great, now i have that song in my head. i'm literally singing it. :-P
 — mandolyn

You're a great 'context' and 'texture' writer.

Line 14 is a tricky one though, your motive is pure .. writing it, doing it, but it's a double, treble, multifaceted reality.
It's the moment of absolute visual clarity, perhaps the single most absolute moment in the entire poem - the image came to my mind just as you wrote it, but also stopped me dead - and I wondered .. is this real? If it is real, what are the implications of such an intimate act? Though the poem continued without a second thought to that moment, my mind kept returning to it.

I like the (unintentional?) challenge of that very striking moment.
Is it me placing an obstacle here, or did you do that deliberately? :)

If you did, you're a writer who works in very fine detail which explains why I like your writing so much.

Have you ever written any short stories, or longer pieces, 9?

A good read, with context and textures that animate well as it's read.
 — jenn

There's something sad about skating rinks. You're always so encouraging when it comes to my poems (and most everyone else's too :) Thanks for that mandolyn.
I wonder if you can die of a heartache? I was 'unclogging my plumbing' (going
to the bathroom) to clarify. Oh, now you can't get it out of your head? lol sorry.
You'll be sad and depressed for the rest of the day because of me.
The song is evil, I tell you the truth ;)
 — 9

lol, you and i agree on that song. i have always, ALWAYS said it's evil- i swear, sometimes i feel like i know you. i had goosebumps after reading some of these lines.
i will not be depressed all my life because of you.

(well, maybe)

 — mandolyn

jenn - The songs are bringing up wounds. The songs are about love explicitly,
but are somehow hollow. The twenty dollar bill and the apology for
'embarrassing her' (which are the cruxes for me) is the real, tangible love.
I'm juxtaposing love (feeling) and love (action). This is why the songs are 'evil'.
And then there is the entertaining layer -
being hungover at a roller rink eating a pretzel with an awesome 12 year old. :)

Is this what you're saying, or not at all?  
Micro-fiction is all I write.
Thanks as always for your insight. :)
 — 9

"Plus we made friends" is a giveaway. |39 & 40 are icing on the cake. this makes me evil. ^^ ~
 — unknown

I think I just got stuck on line 14, 9 :)

I'm going to read this through a few more times and listen to the music.
 — jenn

i'm still laughing at L2. L4 is worded so great.
 — mandolyn

<3 to you both.

And something about pre-teens skating awkwardly together
and at arms length, trying to be grown-up, hardly knowing what romance is,
is so damn sad to me.

I wish I didn't know what romance was sometimes :(
 — 9

what is romance? i've imagined it before. i've seen it in the movies. is it when he slaps your butt while you're walking by? or when he says he wishes your shoulders were more broad?
 — mandolyn

It's when you don't have to talk or think when your eyes meet. You just do :)

Or is that decent sex? I can't tell the difference anymore!
 — jenn

if i try to think about things like i write about, coming to life (not memories in my poems, but thoughts i had that never happened) i tell myself it's not real life and why bother? nobody romances anyone. do they? but then i know a couple who have been married a long time and when the wife gets frustrated the husband soothes her in a way i have never seen before- it does involve touch and a laugh and this absolute selflessness that makes me CRAVE it so badly i end up looking away and once again convincing myself "mandee, you don't need that, stop feeling" -- i dunno, it's hard to put into words right now. anyways, sorry if our ramblings are ruining your poem 9. you got me feeling today. :)
 — mandolyn

Love is real.

And stop ruining my poem :P
 — 9

But romance, I don't know. Maybe it's synapses and neurons at work?
Or a phantom perhaps. Or perhaps that silent knowing like jenn said.
I don't know either. But it can destroy you if you let it.
 — 9

^ that is what i just said on my midnight poem- about it being silent, but wondering what it felt like if it were loud.

ok, i'll shut up. :)
 — mandolyn

Terrific stuff. Damn,I wish I was you. Except for the 12 yr old girl part. I don't mean I want to romance one. NEither do you, that's not what I'm saying. Watching young love which is really just young folly but somewhat pink all over. I believe as adults going back to that world is important. 10 from me.
 — unknown

hmm..my favorite is america. all my life should have been sung.
 — unknown

I used to take my cub scouts (yes, I was a den leader, 20 years ago) to the Roller Garden. I’d get them inside, have my den chief help me get them out on the floor, then duck into the men's room for a quick snort of the power powder. (Hey, I never claimed to be a roll model Den Leader). Then I’d strap on the wheels and join the kids circling the floor under the mirror ball, thinking once, just once I’d like to hear Jimmy Buffett sing “Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw” on the sound system while I wobble across the floor, lap after lap.

But this isn’t about my past, 9. This is about your poem.

Chekhov wrote: “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on the broken glass.” Your poems are always rich in descriptive detail. Another great read.
 — clupeidae

^ You have lead an interesting life haven't you?
Cocaine Cub Scout leader... I don't whether to laugh or be sad about that.
I bet the kids thought you were cool even back then though.
Thanks for hanging in my comment section.
 — 9

Don't be sad; laugh & be happy. It was 20 years ago. I don't do that stuff, or any stuff anymore.
 — clupeidae

I likey you, you likey me, we're sometimes likely-lucky, and then we all fall down... "I'm drawn to abstract expressionist art due to the manner it allows one to start from a position of freedom. The form shatters the template of narrative structure and re-imagines narrative from the monads of the imagination that remain, as well as, leaving room for the constellation of new forms within the broken places of the image." -- PR

Why is 6 the number of significances, of the Love of the mundane, we're all part of it, 'lil broken glimmering things we are, and part fatal falling-Star
 — AlchemiA

the Enneagram of the White Brotherhood, racially blind, really-really kind, in a sweet sort-of way, in how they'd let you play, as a one-of-a-kind, a more then less turn of mind, in a 'NOW" and 'again' sort-of way, eh
 — AlchemiA

them whole's, they're here, you know, those indifferently-conflicted ones, ready to parlay on the mention of happily arrived...
 — AlchemiA

I like you AlchemiA.
 — 9

i just came over here and saw this again and literally started singing the song.
 — mandolyn

^ w/c song?
 — unknown

^ all out of love by air supply
 — mandolyn

this is very prosy but i love the Cup O' Noodles and the fact that Air Supply could be evil...slayer on the other hand had pentagram covers with goat heads..but they small curly haired guy in Air Supply never he had the voice of an angel..lol
 — brother_sun

the best you've felt and written. respect.
 — unknown

Air Supply-blah

Journey's good

Slayer \m/

cool poem.
 — JKWeb

Enamoured with your poem.  Particularly like the pink/red references in the last stanza.  The colors of love.  :)
 — sybarite

Thank you Web, sun and sybarite -
for the read.
Colors of love :)
 — 9

"kind of vile nostalgia"- I get that sometimes.
 — dannyprice

Wow! So good.
 — unknown

Septic release amoung timid poetry crowds results in fainting and _jh)hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhjjj
 — 13fatstacks

^In other words - trash this.
I can't do it.
 — 9

9, don't you EVER trash this.
don't listen to that person up there.

this one will always be great. and i will always taste bottlerockets
and hear "all skate!" when i see the title. :)
 — mandolyn

 — unknown

It's funny how music can take you from joy to grief in a spit second.  Open Arms does it for me and Separate Ways by Journey.  This is the kind of poem that hides you in the shadows so you can see the action, smell the bathroom as well as the girl's shampooed hair.  I can feel shrimp flavored noodles sliding down my throat, though it's been years.  
 — Isabelle5

 — 9

One man's trash the rest of the poets' gold.  Do Not Trash This!  I don't even recognize that person.
 — Isabelle5

I went there with u.  This poem ROCKS!
 — aforbing