“Said Too Much”

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-25)

 

Late in the evening

Plenty of drink testing the limit of my physicality

By this time, usually

I have lost interest, or gone to sleep

On the sofa, or floor

Perhaps sitting outside, unprotected

By with my voice slightly projected

To a level uncivilized and raw

There came the reflexive reach

A bombshell in the breach

Engaging my flaws, sat sparkling and shining

Like a bauble found at an estate sale

In a stringed-up, velvet tote

I opened my mouth

And buried truths began to spout

Embarrassing, empty, revelations better left alone

Communicated via my cellular phone

Mirthful inspiration for a mountebank

Given to gawking

After this repetition of a ruled-paper list

I heard a giggle, and a snake hiss

Confession, it is said, feels good for the soul

But I had surrendered the whole

Of a self not to be shared

With someone who ostensibly cared

Yet could not connect

What else could I expect?

After years of dormant repose

To weep, and rend my clothes

Was not a winning move on the chessboard

Not a Hulk Hogan backflip

Not a cross-continental road trip

Not a clue from a radar blip

Not a prize won at the fair

So, with my face burning, and shock negating relief

I stared into space

More specifically, at my reflection in the storm-door glass

Grateful that the moment had passed

But lessened by the act

Once again, I had allowed the eggshell to crack

So long out of touch

I said too much

Often, I have wished for the presence of mind

To keep these demons behind

To relish the strength

To span the length of a pencil tip

By sealing my lips

How glorious it would be

To have that power, that gift, that wise wall of mental concentration, supreme

Cloaked and concealed

Immune to the appeal

Of saying what I think

Still, while teetering on the brink

There is the mirror’s glaze

A backward gaze

Innocent and naïve before the wolves

Head shaking left and right

A friend said, “Be yourself, you can do no less!”

Yet the advice tumbles me into such bouts of excess

Where I rant and rage

Pass the boundary of a notebook page

Drop my lead

Droop my aching head

Sputter and curse

With the echo of a childhood verse

Learned in grade school, at Chandlersville

In an old brick building, across the road

About the hopping of a shelled toad

Pitifully slow, but steady-on and forward

One step, two steps, three

The tortoise finds victory

Perhaps in the fullness of time

That will be my design

My cape and shield

A ragged run through the minefield

Untouched by explosive etchings in stone

Better it would be, to leave old wounds alone

New blood spilled would do nothing to atone

For any transgression

There is no rebuke

Only a whispered proffering of prose

A sip from the garden hose

During a heat wave that makes the concrete tingle my toes

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned

I stumbled, staggered, and did this thing, again

Let my veil part, before a friend

Foolish and failed

I told my tale

With a gasp of breath as the yield

Falling down, down, down

I surrendered my crown

I said too much, far too much

Inhibitions drowned in a pool of alcoholic noise

A strategy, oft employed

Abused and used

By those of a weak character

I want to be made of sterner stuff

But my bones are brittle and bent

So, with the implied consent

Of a witness at trial

I bend low, over my knees

Tightly close my eyes, and withdraw

A silent pause

Lungs stiff and flat after I exhale

Turned pallid and pale

A new oath resounds, one taken before

No more, no more

I will say

No more