Rooted

there is a moment in the middle of the night
when you realize all of which you love at once and
the pain of it all leaves you so weary awake
with irrational fear funneling inward tornado-like you wish
to hold your head in your hands and weep
uncontrollably to let go of some of the burden of responsibility
laid in your lap

happiness is a conviction spun
from fear to relieve the weight of pounds pounding
their relentless needs of maintenance with tendencies to
evoke the emotional ocean ebbing and pulling
rip tide currents

it is evasion of true loneliness we cling to such things
under this Sun of summer or
other cold seasons waiting to grab our thoughts
and breaths from our lungs filled with intreppidation

yet you must persist to carry water to those who
thirst for your bucket in the arid days depressed
with desires and needs clinging from your shoulders from
the ones who lean on you and call you home to
sit and wait for the middle of the night

Unlearned

as old as wood
is
what she told everyone behind
dusty thick glasses

I’ve seen what I’m going to see and
the rest is repeated for your enjoyment

she was right every time I saw the
world leave it’s senses and I would think of
the generations of idiots who tried to get it right

of those who fell from the precipice to
crumble beside the stones that lay there for
millions of years waiting to
catch the next fool who would climb to power

Time and tide wait for no man

I can see that now from behind her
eyes wrinkled and solemn and dusty

what is left unlearned from
years of full moons and star sightings
is laying at their feet

unheard and selectively forgotten as
fools and their brains are soon parted

we watch from the high road and
giggle like children on holiday at
the audacity of the guile and wasted energy

yet

the joke is on us as
progress stands still waiting
for the next generation of attempts now
lined up
like soldiers behind generals who are

as old as wood

Summer Surrenders

 


She cared about the sand between
her toes, rough and annoying

She let the Sun paint rouge
over her cheeks as
she swam backstroke in
her blue terry cloth aquarium
          side stroke in a wind shift then
          front crawl in a moment of weakness

she’s prone to collapse before
small waves of the lake
          swimming with a lover
          a whisper bathing her ear
          a kiss blown across the rouge
          bashful and moist

She surrenders the moment to
the careless calculations of
the sunburned sand

Nina Cassian

That woman
she has tigers in her poems

perhaps she is angry
like Caesar missing his bus

or gentler like
a cloud passing
through the last remnants of a sunset

she is gone now
she was old

I read her poems on the way to a bank
it was being robbed
of coins in burlap sacks
held by masked tigers
with white shiny teeth

I read her poems
to a new born
who cried for the tigers
who went hungry in the jungles of New York

I read her poems
to a dying tree
who swallowed them whole
and that is the last I’ve heard of them

Weekday Morning

 

The day is met like all the rest
and he still feels as out-of-place as always
odd shapes turn corners to leave with buses and taxis
exhaustion runs waterfall over him
the nail being hammered leans to one side
yet still awaits its fate

cold water from the yellowed porcelain
should awaken the senses
but leaves his eyes tacky and gummed with green crystals
this would be fine
except the nose hairs are all bent the wrong way
even a Kleenex does little for those stuck to the walls

the nose examines the crotch of yesterday’s slacks
cologne will cover that day and a collared blue shirt
beginning to stain slightly in the arm pits
even Tide couldn’t remove

a pirouette tells him everything is off
his shoes feel cool and comfortable
the wallet slides easily into the back pocket
the watch pinches off two arm hairs as it closes in place
the keys, both pairs, clang into pocket resentfully
his holster saddles him up and the gun is fastened within grasp
the badge is slid onto the belt
two Tylenol travel down his throat
along with five Vicodin;

"Breakfast at Yum-Yum’s, Lunch at Coco’s, back for frozen pizza and the baseball game, this might not be too bad..."

The refrigerator broke last night.

 

Wake Up Jimmy

 
Jimmy is drunk
passed out on the street
it’s raining

he had a fight with his girlfriend
who is pregnant
and seventeen
wants to keep it
along with her faith
somehow
her friend Trudy spilled it to her parents
who called the cops
statutory rape or something
but Jimmy’s already
got a warrant for parking tickets
had a job downtown
see
and
he got laid off yesterday
something about stealing office supplies
Jimmy said
he had to take some work home with him
that would have been OK

except
he had been caught photocopying his butt a month ago
already on thin ice for that
when he went to cry on his girlfriend’s shoulder
she wanted to see if the mole on the copy matched the real thing
one thing led to another
a Polaroid camera got passed around
he barely remembers something about strip Candy Land
Jimmy was out her door by ten
got drunk at the Rock Bottom Brewery
and managed to make it home by two

anyway it’s raining now
it’s supposed to rain all night
Jimmy’s face is in a pothole
full of water

World Interrupted

I feel like I interrupted the
world on the day I was born.

everything had started, life
was already in motion, I had
no control over anything, I felt as awkward
as showing up late to a party and realizing
I wasn't invited.

people were doing what
they are still doing, some
faces have changed, some
have disappeared forever -

I stand in nobody's way.

the world keeps spinning, the
Sun travels through the sky each day,
rain comes and goes, stars
appear in familiar places, the
seasons change -

I do nothing but watch.

everything was here when I arrived.

the dinosaurs came and went,
Christ had his troubles, generations
of men fought over land and religion,
women were second class citizens, for some reason?
and
time had already been calculated and laid out.

But I've seen some things arrive anew
into this world.

still - I had nothing to with their creation.

we've traveled through space, landed on the moon,
taken a look at galaxies deep into the universe; computers
got smarter and smaller and faster and portable and programmable
and affordable, and they've all been connected to each other by wires.

yet this has not pulled us out of the Dark Ages.

people still die from the flu,
cancer,
AIDS,
heart desease,
lung desease,
obiesity,
old age (and we still don't know what age that is,)
a paper cut,
an ear infection;
many still have no homes to live in,
there are still slaves in the world,
some idiots still think skin color matters,
people still hate,
shoot guns at others,
overrun, overturn,
overmedicate,
overuse,
overdose,
overindulge; and then they
have trouble understanding
we were all late to this party.

Notes - A Memoir Short

It really was a beautiful swing. The kind of swing that would have made Jack Nicholas smile. It was smooth and fluid. Near perfect. The tennis ball took off like a rocket with an impressive arc. The golf club even made that swoosh sound as it cut through the air. The follow through was too perfect tough. It connected with my friend Christopher’s jaw. I never thought you could connect twice and perfect with one swing. But I did it - once.


Two birds with one stone, so that’s what it means? I never really got it until that day. I stored the thought and turned to see Christopher doubled over and crying. I turned back to see where the tennis ball had landed. Nothing. I felt bad for Christopher, but you’ve got to admire a thing of beauty when it comes around. Who knows when or if it will ever show up again?

My dad was the first to show up. He came around the corner of our house with that half panic look he got. In my whole life I never saw him full out panic. He got upset sure, but never full on red faced hair raising panic. I should know too, I was always watching him. I would always pay attention to how he dealt with situations. I was curious on how you’re supposed to act to problems and tragedies. Dad was my tour guide.

I spent the bulk of my time growing up with my mother. I learned lots of things from her, but that is another story. It was Dad who was the one to watch. He always led by example. Besides, I’m going to grow up to be just like him, aren’t I? I have his feet, his hands, and his cheek bones. I might as well copy a true original. This is the stuff I’m going to need when I get to be old.

Let’s see… Daughter runs her arm through a screen door. Apply pressure to the wound. Remain calm. Take her to hospital for stitches. Check.

First son shatters left hand batting poorly in a little league baseball game. Pack with ice. Remain calm. Take to hospital for x-rays and cast. Check.

Garage collapses on top of family car from the weight of too much snow. Act slightly pissed, but not too pissed as to scare family. Evaluate the situation. Compose yourself. Make a note to call insurance company on Monday. Check.

Second son crushes neighbor boy’s jaw with golf club pretending to be Jack Nicholas. Ask what happened in a loud, almost angry voice. Walk damaged boy across street and hand him back to his parents in present condition. Apologize two to three times. Go back and yell at errant son. Take golf club away. Take away TV for a couple days. Compose self for dinner. Check.

Dinner that night was a learning experience too.
My dad started, “What were you thinking?”

“I dunno?”

You’d think I could come up with something better. But I was busy watching him. Was he going to get angrier? Would he be able to drop the subject? Could he let it go? Should he let it go? I was worried. I didn’t want it to turn into a spanking situation. You know how those can get away from you. One minute you think you’re in the clear and the next you’re over a knee getting whacked. I should try to help him remain calm.

“I thought he was far enough behind me,” I told him. “I thought it was OK to swing. He stood too close. I couldn’t see him.” I was bargaining with every sentence.

It worked. He understood. He was a rational man after all. He let it go after dinner. Later he called Christopher’s parents to see how he was doing. As he was listening to them, I could tell he was trying not to get mad all over again.

“Well kid,” he said to me, “you broke his jaw. The doctor had to wire it shut to set the bone. He’ll be on liquid food for three weeks.” He paused and then added, “Did you ever apologize?”

Make kid apologize. Check.

“I’m not sure. There was a lot of screaming and blood and stuff.”

“You’re going to keep him company after school until dinner. You’re going to check with his teacher everyday and get any homework. If he needs help with some of his homework, then help him. You’re a year older, so you should know better.”

Make kid friend’s slave. Check.

Remorse is a product of Cause and Effect. Break a friend’s jaw and there is always time for remorse. After all was said. After all the lectures I took notes on. After all the Band-Aids, Bactine, cold compresses, heating pads, thermometers, and chewable aspirin with little cups of water. After the lights went out at nine o’clock. There was plenty of time for remorse.

There were many more seemingly minor tragedies I learned from over the years. I’ve got it all stored away upstairs. I’ve got it catalogued and ready for whatever might happen. It’s an internal tome of knowledge I’ve acquired through years of observation.
Life seems simple enough - when you have notes.


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