Nick Chlopicki

drinking fizzy water can be more fun than washing your hair 

 

to sit on the
dance floor
rolling a ciggie
hiding out
amongst the crowd
and copping angry
knees to the temple
           (I mean is there any need for that?)
whilst trying to work out ways
                                                           to feel
               good about
                                                                            y o u r s e l f
                       (even something like an eyelash curler might help here)
                 with the anxiety of trying out new second hand clothes
   and having a weird mixture
                                                   between being
                         not just vain
      but self consciously desperate
                                               for approval

           and in the mornings
               on a tram ride going home
    settling down for ice cold fizzy water
              with the right pink grapefruit
                    hoping to be complimented on choice of colour scheme
                               whilst trying not to spill the juice
      down your front with every bump

 

 

 

 

                some sort of milk crate kinda solution to it all

 
but
                    yeah
                                       nah
                                                       its
                                                                       alright
                                                                                    aye
                                                           the wine glass tho is
                                                                really half  full
                                                                   apart from
                                                                          the
    whole self preservation part which maybe only preserves one version of the self
                                                the going along with things part

                                                                                                      like going along dangerous
                                                                                                      roads laughing at the police
                                                                                                      hiding in the shoulders
                                                                                                      in stupidly expensive cars
            going from one
                                                     e y e sore
                                                                    to another

then to try and get away from it all
                             staying in a tent
                            when there is an actual thunderstorm
                                        where lightning provides
                                                  natural lighting
           and when the thunder gives you the literal
                                                                                            howling fantods

                          this    might be an appropriate moment to admit
                                                   (after being forced to squat outside the tent to piss of course)

that while everything is fun      with       monuments of history towering around us
            we’re actually running away from whatever thing
                                           whatever that may be or not to be

       for some sort of halfway house
       between some spooning stability
       and coffee breaks
       instead of actual mates

                 and of course its okay to not be but like what of it being not the rest?

      there could possibly be a martini alcoholic
      superhero riding a shit scared weird eyed horse
      followed by a
      cut out villian with sneaky eyes

instead maybe best
to leave it all behind
to try oven roasted
camembert stuffed
with rosemary and
garlic and whatever
secret ingredients
revealing themselves
at the right time
to enjoy with
freshly washed hair
sitting on swinging seats
which can be used
for far more than
just swinging along
with legs dangling

 

 

 

 

Nick Chlopicki has performed his poetry all over Wollongong, Sydney and internationally, if you include beaches and backpacking hostel lobbies. He writes about his travels, fizzy water, and writing poetry. Nick has writings published in Tertangala, Menace and UoW Litsoc zines. 
 

Advertisements