just for today you are awesome
just for today you are awesome and this morning you wear your hands like sparkly gloves. you check them in the mirror. you slip into your feet like silver slippers. today you are awesome and as you walk down the hallway you declare: today the walls will be yellow! by saying it you make it so. today you are awesome and the universe bows to your every whim. the doors in the house swing open in celebration of your being and the old floors say: we are sorry we are wooden. today we can be tile. you are pleased with this. the couch and the television and the coffee table? red red red! red to the dead grass in the yard. red to the cracked sidewalk and red to the snooty neighbors. i don’t care! you exclaim. today i am awesome! and you think of all these delightfully witty quips for conversations you’ve already had. you time-travel back to those moments when you had been certifiably not-awesome and you make everyone convulse with laughter. they look like they are having seizures foaming at the mouth and this makes you very happy.
today you are awesome and when you sit in your now-magenta automobile all the red-green-yellow of the traffic signals combine into a strange shade of brown. in the subsequent confusion you slip through the urban center unnoticed and unbothered. you see your girl/boyfriend and s/he says: today i am not very awesome and you say: it’s ok. i am awesome. let’s go on an adventure! the two of you hit the parkway heading south and trade-off choosing random exits with silly names like ‘Metuchen.’ you do this all day until your car runs out of gasoline and you wind-up stranded on the side of the road. you say to your girl/boyfriend: it’s ok. we are on an adventure. i am awesome and you are awesome by association and i am only awesome for today so we better make use of it. your girl/boyfriend agrees and asks if you might manifest some gasoline. why would i want to do that? you say. at that very instant a glimmer forms in your left eye brighter than a thousand supernovas. you tilt your now-glowing head towards the endlessly dismal pine barrens that border the highway. let’s make use of it.
john mortara lives and writes and eats bagels in wilmington, north carolina. he used to live in new jersey. the bagels were a lot better. his website is johnmortara.com and he’s got a poetry project at voicemailpoems.org