The bar is so loud and that’s why I never go to bars and also I hate cigarettes and alcohol. I love staring at glass bricks, though, and looking at sparkling bottles of whiskey. They look like treasures. They are treasures! I love to look at treasures. Beneath these treasures there is a conversation going on and I am beneath and across from the treasures and from here all I can hear is JOSH and then a little while later JOSH and then JOSH again and smiling and laughing and almost screaming. She says JOSH and is beautiful and brown skinned and animated. I know she must love JOSH very deeply; you can tell by the nature of all the JOSHes you hear and the way in which you hear them. And then I hear BLACK HILLS and I think: Wait! What could be next? What can you say after BLACK HILLS? And then I hear: JOSH and JOSH again and one more time JOSH. Finally, I hear MT. RUSHMORE and then I cannot hear anything at all for a long time and the music is so loud until finally, finally, I hear a complete sentence: BUT THAT’S NOT WHY YOU GO THERE. Of course that’s not why you go there: you go there for JOSH. And JOSH goes there for you. Good ol’ JOSH.
RICKY GARNI is a writer, designer and cyclist from Carrboro, North Carolina. He was recently published in BEECHER’S MAGAZINE, RIPRAP and LIEF. His latest work is entitled DOTS.
Read more by Ricky Garni:
Poem at Cha
Two poems at The Fat City Review
Poem at Egg