The Guy in the Blue House

Dali along the fence. Strange colors
and partial people, Manikins from
A music video from your youth, your eye capturing
the moment, a sudden realization
of how much of your own strangeness
has come back to you and how long the journey
and how much is left. Each day
bright with opportunities no one understands,
but take for granted that you,
the guy in the blue house is nice, but….

Happy.

Dangerous stuff happy. Seductive.
Prone to smiles at the strangest times,
contagious, as much so as the black dark
of depression, but twice as fragile.
And so you sip your coffee, toast the manikin,
laugh at yourself, move on, able, finally
to live in the moment without fear of collapse.

About this poem

Yeah. It is a good time in life. Inexplicable as some of the bad times were. Lots of music video references in this one. You’ll have to be oldish like me to get them.

I do live in a blue house. When I first moved here I would sit on the front porch and read. That’s how most of my neighbors got to know me, waving at the stranger in the blue house. Because in Vermont, we wave at everyone, even if we don’t know them.

The picture was taken at a local antique fair.

Tom