Villanelle for Yesterdays
You’re doing what all of us are doing, getting by.
A sad, disjunctive mess of wake-up, live, repeat.
Still the occasional tear at the corner of the eye.
Sometimes you stare out the window, at the blue sky
And wish it was grey. From the window seat
You’re doing what all of us are doing, getting by.
Every breath draws itself into a sigh.
Double-panes separate you from the heat.
Still, the occasional tear at the corner of the eye.
No easy answers out in the streets, that’s why,
When faced with the unanswerable, you retreat:
You’re doing what all of us are doing, getting by.
Possibility is just a dream until you try
And sometimes you walk away, holding defeat.
Still the occasional tear at the corner of the eye.
One day over, you have yet to die.
You’d turn away, but oblivion seems sweet.
You’re doing what all of us are doing, getting by,
Still the occasional tear at the corner of the eye.
This poem was a torment to write. It usually is the case, if I sit down with a goal in mind, I can’t write a damn thing. Certainly was today. With villanelles I have to start with a good refrain. I mean, both refrains need to be good, they’re repeated often enough, but I need a good one to start building rhymes and verses out of, and I had nothing. While the blank page was tormenting me, I was watching Weeds. In the first season, when Nancy goes out with Celia and Conrad to the club and meets Tusk, she says, “What am I doing” (I think, this was hours ago) and Tusk responds, “You’re doing what all of us are doing. You’re getting by.” And I thought that line might work out. I tweaked it a bit, and within an hour had 17 of the lines written. Seven hours and half a bottle of wine later, it’s finished. There was a very unhappy gap at the fifth stanza.
Note to self (and everyone who reads this): next poem must be free verse. Have to keep the cachet.