Ryan Hardgrove- Three Poems

give in, and join the crowd!

I fill up these notebooks

with all these words

but what’s the use?

the sky is blue

and everyone knows it

sometimes it’s grey

and everyone knows that too

deep into the night

saddled at the bar

the autumn crowd

is typically a bit more boisterous

it’s easier to lie to yourself

when the weather is pleasant

a barroom pal

lands the stool next to mine

mumbles something about a dart game

and too many 50 cent tacos

he drops a couple pills

into my cramped pen hand

I toss them into my mouth

without inspecting them

and bite down hard once

before swallowing the bitter shards

with a mouth full of flat beer

after the pills kick in

and enough beer is swallowed

the barroom gets real easy to accept

all the faces seem happy with me

at first they were wary of my pen

and head-down-scribbles

but now they seem to recognize me

as one of their own

they all know it’s no use

all these notebooks full of words

they know just as well as I do

but it’s easy

to look around the barroom

when the windows turn black

with autumn night blankness

and we are all roasting inside

amidst endless golden taps

and warm purring neon’s

it’s easy to forget

about the notebook and the pen

I think I’ll hunt down my barroom pal

for some more of those pills

Friday Night Blues

just north of town

along the Ohio river

my little apartment

rattles in its foundation

as another plane skates

far too low

I’m full and bloated

on 8 dollar pizza

and can’t seem to scrape

enough black sticky residue

out of my old glass pipe

I could call someone

for a real score

but I’m fresh out of cash

      I’ve even exhausted all the nickels and dimes

      the quarters have been gone for days

and the pennies are far too tragic

for spending

the ball of tar is getting close

to something substantial

almost smoke-able

maybe I will get high tonight

another plane blasts

through the window

like a god damn freight train

and irritates my diligent fingers

working ceaselessly

at the meticulous task at hand

one day all those planes

will drop out of the sky

like locust shells

and then maybe

I’ll be able to figure out

what’s really wrong with me

Let the Crickets Sing!

Laying in bed

trying to sleep

as the insects sing

their ancient songs

from crab grass podiums

I begin discerning

the different insects

and one in particular steals my mind

and I let it absorb me

with eyes closed

until it sounds like a blaring car alarm

so I get up

find the switch

find the toilet

lean towards the mirror

steal a blurred glimpse

of flesh and hair

flush

find the fridge

open

close

open

gulp the OJ

like it’s special sleeping serum

as the fridge pours

cold white light

upon my bare chest

but sleep won’t come

     not yet

     and it’s okay

because the rest are sleeping

so I stay awake and wait

     stay separate and gulp OJ

I stare into this

blank black window

and everything is far away

and unconscious of this enormous blankness

and I feel wonderfully isolated

and exceptionally alone

not lonely

but alone

and we are alone

but they all distract themselves

with their social circus

So let the crickets sing tonight!

let them rise together

into a singular beacon of sound

just for me, and nobody else

I’ll rest soon enough

when they awaken

and crowd the streets

with noise and confusion

and awful routines that carve out their

souls

I’ll be safe,

far removed from the carnage

that comes along with everyday obligation

I’ll be safe in bed

avoiding it all

waiting for the crickets

to sing for me

once again

Ryan Hardgrove is a published poet.  His consciousness has grown and meandered like a weed throughout his 27 years crawling upon this rock.  He now lives in a small apartment along the Ohio River, just two miles north of Pittsburgh, PA.  When he is not writing, he is tending bar downtown or pacing on his fire escape smoking cigarettes.