Dirigible - Poemrosestoryofshortnessbutkinddalong

Dirigible

Sometimes

Sometimes I

Sometimes I feel

Sometimes I feel like one of those

Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade

Balloon People.

Not the people.

The Balloons. 

You know what I’m talking about?

They’re those balloons that are Beings

Being towed along by people on the ground.

The people on the ground are not really paying attention.

They were at first, like

When we first got put up there,

We Balloon-People.

It was all,

“Did you get the right amount of gas in her, Hank?”

And

“Wow, that one’s huge!”

And

“The kids LOVE this one!”

They say this

While they’re looking

While they’re looking up.

While they’re looking up at me.

Then their eyes go level

And what’s left of me

To them

Is a rope

And a responsibility.

“The Mayor is gonna want to check this one out

Personally, Mark. His daughter designed it.”

And

“Hey get that idiot out of here, he’s drunk!”

And

“Can we get this started, already?”

“The thrill is goooonnnne”

Is what BB King would groan.

I’m still up here

But my handlers never look up.

Not really.

I just float,

Away from the

Chattering

Smiling

People. 

I have a smile painted on my face.
The smiling face of a cartoon character.

I float along

Looking at the crowd

Looking at you.

Our eyes meet.

You are laughing

There

There in the crowd

There in the crowd at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

But I am not smiling.

Not really.

The face on my face

Is not mine.

People think hot air is hot

But it’s really not.

It’s only hot enough

To keep me away

To keep me at bay

Apart and separate

From the earth-

But air is really cold

As far as guts go.

And where all the people are

Is where I want to be.

And they feel secure

That I am up here

Floating and smiling

When all I want to be

Is Down There.

I want to be filled with something warm

Like real guts

Like love

Like care

Like hope

Like smiling

Like you.

I want to be in the crowd

But

I am here

I am up here

I am up here apart

From where I once was

Not a part of you any more

And I am held by ropes

Ropes that are not smooth

And I strain against them.

The ropes keep me up

And I hate them.

And the people love

What the ropes do-

But they love me, too

They say.

The people on the ground

Are satisfied

To see me at a distance -

Up, with my happy smile painted

On my bereaved face

As I float,

Within sight

In control,

But away.

Sometimes I think that maybe

The people

The people on the ground

The people on the ground that are smiling

Are like me

Dirigibles

With smiles painted on

Being held by ropes

Away from the people

And places

And things they love

In and on the earth.

Are they cold inside?
And if they are

Do they know it?

--Eric Marley

February 2012