Cars and people and leaves
are skittering and scurrying
up and down
And you can tell
the wind is just itchin'
to raise a little hell
and the light
is slowly fadin'
to a gun-metal grey
and it's officially
in the new millenium, people,
just another Friday afternoon
winding itself up (or running
into just another Friday night
in this overgrown sandbox of a cow-town.
And it don't really matter
what your story is
or where you come from,
why you're here or whether
you're the prodigal son of Sam Walton
or the red-headed stepchild
of Sam, the butcher,
whether the ladies
will soon be cooing to you
their sweet siren tunes
or it's just you and your stereo
and a gallon jug of wine in a tiny room:
it's just another Friday night
and one less night
of your life...
What are you gonna do?
What have you got to say
about it all and, anyway,
who's gonna hear you?
Seems like Friday night
used to mean somethin' once, right?
Somethin' you started thinkin' about
come the middle of the week.
Somethin' that goosed your engine a little,
got the blood up to a good roil.
Yeah, Friday Night used to mean somethin', alright.
Now, it's just plain old mean.
That's right, brothers and sisters,
it's just another Friday night here in KC,MO
where it seems like newly-monied white bread
have always run the show,
always set the "who's who,"
(the ones that always play the same goddamn
Dave Mathews, ABBA and Jimmy Buffet tunes
on the jukebox, that’s who).
And there's nothin' much
to talk about, really,
nothin' you can do,
nothin' much to think about, even,
so don't even think about
askin' me what I'm thinkin'
'cause my thoughts aint worth
a ten-penny nail and my ass
aint worth a dime-bag of ditch-weed.
'Sides, none o' these half-assed
lords and ladies 'round here
could afford to pay me
for my time, anyway,
not unless I decided to let it go
for a blue light special discount rate
(in which case, most likely,
the gesture would come "too little-too late").
to tell the truth,
right about now,
as the stars and the streetlights
are just now comin' out
and the sun has finally settled down,
I'm wonderin' if it's too late
to fire somethin' up, maybe,
to fly somethin' up the flagpole,
to send out the coyote-call to anyone listening
and finally fall forward
into some brief, but respectable, formulation
of the good life (or something almost like it),
to jump-start the failing heart
and lungs and central nervous system
of this one-of-many
(gone before you know it),
-Jason Ryberg, 2007