
A poem.
my counsellor told me to deal in certainties;
to stop worrying about things outside me;
to find my new identity,
stop living in the past and get with this century.
i don’t like movies anymore.
there was a time that finding
a new Oliver Reed film would excite me,
or rewatching something by Spike Jonze
or Paul Schrader could entice me
to stick my head out of the hole where no one could find me.
when watching Dirty Work for the dozenth time
or any Evil Dead would put me on cloud nine
when all i wanted to do was stop being alive.
and who knows why this stopped?
only i can examine this train of thought.
it takes me an hour to finish a sitcom
because i pause it twenty times to check if the oven is still on.
i lie in bed trying to sleep,
wondering what it was about the end of The Iron Giant
that made me weep,
and then i think about that time on Facebook that my Grade 7 teacher
posted our class photo with my face scratched off it.
that was the only copy she kept?
and no one cared – not even her.
it’s obvious that being one of her failures
is not something she’ll write about in her memoirs.
so is that why i subscribe
to just letting my wife decide what we watch?
because i equate the pain of my youth
with all the movies that once gave me proof
that i had something to look forward to
if only i could wait a little longer to?
that didn’t stop all the directors
from my theatrical endeavours
giving me tiny roles because they couldn’t trust
i wouldn’t go off-book to fulfill a selfish lust.
but why would i when none of them could prove
they could guide me with respect rather than have me removed?
i download a million movies thinking they’ll make me happy
when all they do is confound me
to all the time i could be spending
feeling sorry that my life is never-ending.
“this is the point where i pity you.”
at least that’s what my Senior-year Drama instructor would say.
so you can stop calling me The Movie Man now,
thanks.
that joke is sixteen-years too late.
and if you didn’t know that by now,
then our disconnect was in the stars somehow.
//jf 9.29.2021
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