Poetry by Brian C. Billings
He always went off half-cocked—
left every party halfway through
because he only half knew anybody,
half convinced himself he was a genius
(but half forgot how to prove it),
took the better half of a day to go anywhere
and the worse half of a night to leave,
drank his morning coffee half ready
and his evening drinks half mixed,
never took more than half a chance
when acting on his own behalf,
bought about half of the small lies
while halfheartedly believing the big truth,
tossed away his relationships half done
whenever his love had half begun,
acted like a halfwit more than he should
(while maybe half understanding why),
stayed half on track when the job mattered
and went half astray whenever it didn’t,
ran over half the world to find himself
and half killed himself when he couldn’t,
gave the people who tried half a chance
about half the time he worked with them . . .
They say he was a decent guy,
but they don’t know the half of it.
Brian C. Billings is a professor of drama and English at Texas A&M University-Texarkana. His work has appeared in such journals as Ancient Paths, The Bluebird Word, Confrontation, Evening Street Review, Glacial Hills Review, and Poems and Plays. Publishers for his scripts include Eldridge Publishing and Heuer Publishing.
