dmseay

you want the light on…

no…

like sittin’ in the dark…

yes…

it’s not good for ya…wakin’ up in the middle of the night…just starin’ out windows…what’s out there…what you lookin’ at…

all of it…everything…same things…

like what…

old church…streetlights…corner where that boy got shot last summer…

snow’s done washed away that blood…

nobody else would…dried in the Sun all throughout the Fall…just dark black blobs of blood…

I know…I know…

lookin’ at slushy sidewalks…thinkin’ how cold and wet my feet get…walkin’ ’round this town…nobody shovels…just wait til it melts…and as soon as it melts we get hit ‘gain…some clipper from Canada…storm brewin’ out West…we get our share…

we do…we do…

look at these cars up on blocks…missin’ tires…stripped down…things haven’t moved in years…just sit there…linin’ up the alleyway…people steal and that’s that…you want somethin’ you better lock it away…but that ain’t no guarantee…

you could pray…

for what…dear God please keep an eye on my shit…that don’t make no sense…he’s got ‘nough on his plate without worryin’ ’bout this neighborhood…

I hear ya…I hear ya…

you asked what I’m lookin’ at…

yeah…

nothin’…just nothin’…

what time did ya get up…

’round two…

couldn’t sleep…

couldn’t sleep…

there’s some lavender in the cabinet…or some sleepy time tea you could drink with milk and honey…

naw…don’t matter…

gotta sleep some time…

I will…

‘member when we used to stay up all night…drinkin’ and carryin’ on like kids do…makin’ love til mornin’ came…sleepin’ like vampires in the afternoon…

I remember…

and you used to talk ’bout them dreams you had…takin’ off to Paris…or Prague…someplace romantic…bein’ a writer…poet…livin’ on poverty’s riches…

dreams…

when’s last time you wrote somethin’…really wrote somethin’ with some heart to it…meant somethin’…do ya recall…

naw…I dont…maybe it was just some phase I went through…some stage of life where you think you’re gonna live forever on nothin’ but boiled rice and a sack of potatoes…Ramen noodles…

as long as we had beer…

yep…beer…yeah…maybe it was just a phase…some kinda crazy dream that I could be a writer…’ventually you come to your senses…ain’t no grown men wanna live like that…penniless…nothin’ to their name…have to be crazy to live like that…naw…you grow up…leave dreams behind…be sensible…responsibilities…

responsibilities…

yeah…you don’t ask for ’em…they just one day appear…life changes…people take u-turns …one day you’re writin’ poems and drinkin’ and carryin’ on like a mad fool…then the next you’re sellin’ insurance…workin’ some assembly line…too tired to think anymore…and things no longer concern you unless it’s in your little neck of the woods…kid’s grades…how you’re gonna pay for this…how you’re gonna pay for that…you forget ’bout travels…Paris…Prague…Portugal…where ever…just let it go…let it go…

you sorry ’bout the way things turned out…

… … …

said are you sorry ’bout the way things turned out…

… goin’ back to bed…just tired…

he walked into Walmart at three in the mornin’…lookin’ for nothin’ inparticular…just walkin’ the aisles…past different flavored Doritos…blow-up beds…camping gear…mixing bowls…just walked…

spent time lookin’ at electronic equipment…different types of cellphones…radios…computers…played on the keyboards awhile…no-one asked if they could help him…different types of video games caught his eye…

went over to the sporting goods section…footballs…basketballs…bats…gloves…he remembered his baseball playin’ days…how he was a catcher…called the pitches…signaled out to the mound…he thought he was somethin’…thought he was somethin’…could hit the ball too…a real american…

saw bullets lined up on shelves…locked away…only opened with a key…all kinds…silver colored ones…brass…real pretty…thought ’bout swipin’ a pack or two…thought ’bout it…

looked at shirts with pictures of his favorite wrestlers on ’em…saw others that were plain…next to packages of underwear…hadn’t done laundry in a few days…a week or two…

was three in the mornin…just walkin’ ’round Walmart…

often write ’bout the quiet of night…how there’s no sound…just silence…then a car will drive by…train wails…leg drags ‘cross a sheet…back to nothing…nothing…

in Summer cicadas sing…birds chirp early morning prayers…a coffee pot percolates…shower can be heard down the hall…a t.v. next door blurs out white noise…a signal lost…a signal lost…

and then it’s back to quiet…beauty in silence…drinking it every night…taking in what is offered by a god who keeps silent too…this wonder of nothing…of nothing…

he’d see her soon…
show up with flowers in hand…
a kiss to seal the deal…

want…
dream’t at night..
thoughts of ginger in the Sun…

so far away…
sent messages every hour…
professing love…

and he did…
proved it…
he wrote her a poem…

words…
just words…
his heart on a page…

Happy Valentine’s day…

dusty…run your finger ‘cross the top of the table there and see what happens…go on…outlines of books…lamps…framed pictures…cups…the place is filthy…you’ve certainly let things slip old boy…dirty dishes…street salt all over the carpet…an empty bag of chips on the counter…a real mess…yes…a real dump you might say…

well…you’ll have to answer for this…it’s your responsibility to keep things tidy now isn’t it…clothes unfolded…no clean underwear…look at the way you live…blood on a pillowcase…wrinkled sheets…it’s a good thing you’re not allowed guests…

what became of you…she gave you the split and look what became of you…folding chairs…counting loose change…five dollars and eighty-three cents…where’s your next meal coming from…half eaten jar of peanut butter…Saltines…soon it’ll be the bricks for you…can only live this way for so long…

the marriage was miserable…twelve bleedin’ years of misery…constant chores…leaves raked…lawn mowed…Christmas lights put away…and she gave the orders…somebody had to…laying in bed all day reading Bukowski is no way to live…things need to be in place…and take a look at you…shoes strewn…socks without mates…a real puzzle you are…

don’t you want to live a normal life…’round white people for God’s sake…drive a car…pay insurance…clip hedges on Saturday afternoons…church on Sundays…the evangelical experience…that’s what you need…the wicked will be punished…the wicked will be punished…

now look at you…is this your idea of freedom…to sit in the mucky-muck…waiting for what…for what…Jesus isn’t coming back for the likes of you…no siree Bob…he’s coming back to gather respectable people…doctors…lawyers…salesmen…folks who have done something with their lives…made a mark…those with some discipline…not you boy…not you…

dusty…run your finger ‘cross the top of the table there and see what happens…

he sat there wigglin’ his teeth in his mouth…takin’ his pointer finger and givin’ his back molars a real goin’ over…loose as can be…they’d fall out anytime if he kept it up…

wanted ’em all gone…just have nothin’ in his mouth but gums and a tongue…was tired of brushin’ everyday…never flossed…they were all yellow from years of smokin’ cigarettes til four in the mornin’ chased with shots of whiskey…his was not a picture of health…

didn’t enjoy chewin’ food anymore…all he wanted to do was drink…used to enjoy steaks when he was younger…vegetables too…and crisp apples that fell in the Fall…not anymore…those days were gone…

so he’d sit there and wiggle his teeth all day long atop a barstool…watchin’ FOX NEWS…not sayin’ a word…keepin’ his thoughts to himself as every once in awhile he’d spit up some blood and cough into his dirty handkerchief….mumbled…, excuse me…

that’s what his life had become…a lonely old man who never stuck with marriage…or jobs…or anything other than the bars and taverns ’round town…that’s all he wanted…that’s all he wanted…just keep the shots comin’…keep ’em comin’…

they took the pain away…

so quiet at night…not a sound…train did not wail…sirens did not sing…no voices calling out in the darkness…just silence…type of silence where you know something’s happening…maybe not in your part of town…but somewhere…

maybe a drunk closing the bar at three a.m. …staggering home to nothing but a color t.v. and a hotplate…a small refrigerator with nothing in it…crackers in the cupboard…an empty jar of peanut butter…a used tea bag wrapped in string sits on the night stand next to a copper cup…

mom staying up late…sitting in pitch black…looking at streetlights and remembering when her baby used to play ball on winter nights til his hands bled…shooting hoops in games of horse…being called in for dinner where they prayed ‘fore every meal…prayed that there would be food the next night and the night after that…prayed for a man whose chair was always empty…prayed…just prayed…

a boy wandering ’round a truckstop…far away from home…picking his pockets for loose change…eyeing truckers as they ate their cornbeef hash…eggs over easy…smothered in some thick gravy…the way mom used to make for him on Saturday mornings while pop read the paper and his sister slept-in…some suburban dream dancing in his head…a voice telling him to go…wander ’round this country of ours…discover america…find yourself…waiting it out for one more ride…

cops at the IHop…drinking pots of coffee and listening to their radios…gas station hold up on the Southside of town…a domestic on Lafayette…some junkie being taken to the emergency room…another deer hit out on 24…

and it was just another night…just another night…sat in silence…in the dark…waiting…waiting for morn…

through the window he could see her dancing in the kitchen…not with a partner…no man…just herself…shakin’ her hips slowly to a saxophone…believe it was Coltrane…moving effortlessly ‘cross a linoleum floor…barefoot and a brown belly pushin’ outta midriff tank top …breasts covered barely by thin gossamer with chains of gold and silver swayin’ back and forth…back and forth…as if placed there long ago by magic…pure magic…a loving kind…nothing fake…just love…love…

she had a smile on her chocolate face…red lips silently singin’ words…,These are a few of my favorite things…,and she poured maroon wine into a short glass and drank from the cup…drank as if she wanted it…needed it…craddeling the base with both hands…and the music and the wine and the dancing and her hips moving to choppy notes as his lust grew and grew…wanting her more now than ever…more than on that night years ago when he first met her inna bar on the Southside of town where jazz went down and white smoke filled the room…all while young men wrestled with acts of machismo and old men patiently waited their turn…knowing that the tortoise always wins the race…

she was a kid back then…thirsty for experience…wanting to be taught ’bout life…swept off her feet…shown more than a good time…wanting love and in that love a suffering…a suffering that would make her a better artist…to be taught that the dance is slow…painful…and to do it right took time and practice…time and practice…

the old man watched her that night as he watched her on this night…with want in his eyes…an old ghost from the past waiting to dance again…with her…with her…only her…

through the window he could see her dancing in the kitchen…not with a partner…no man…just herself…shakin’ her hips slowly to a saxophone…believe it was Coltrane…

wish it was still night…
purple…
asleep for a thousand years…
never to see the Sun…

tucked away in bed…
dream…
far from reality…
eyes closed…

no pain…
thoughts a slumber…
you were once here…
you were once here…

and I say goodnight…
whispered…
wishing…
it was still night…