loose change kept rattling ’round in the dryer…amongst underwear…old colored socks…blouses she wore…
he kept hitting the MORE DRY button just as it was ’bout to end…wanted the music to continue…
just sat there…listening…to quarters…dimes…some pennies wrapped in lint…roll ’round…
he just didn’t like silence…
you left in March…when it was time to go…a new home…mansions on hills…streets of gold…who knows…
i did not say goodbye…calls were made…never a voice was heard…just a never-ending ring…maybe that was enough…maybe…
nothing was resolved…hard feelings have grown harder…anger keeps pace day after day…truth is at stake…truth…
where did you go…where…
many say heaven…
yet…i think otherwise…
the old man looked-over the diner’s bill again and again and again…whispered out loud, this ain’t right…this ain’t right, in his Texas thickness…,she’s chargin’for one too many soup and salads….I won’t pay it.., he never paid it…
let me see the bill pop…the check…give me the check, with hesitation dad handed over the scribbled-on paper…
she’s tryin’ to screw us…that’s what’s she’s tryin’ to do…you’ll see…
this is right pop…this is right…no more…no less…
give me that, dad raged, give me that damn thing…what the hell do you know…
again…the old man whispered out numbers and items…backwards and forwards…over and over…
give me the bill dad…i’ll pay it…i’ll pay it…
fine..
oh…that’s fine with you…that’s OK…right…
an age spotted hand grabbed the money I had placed, keep your money…just keep it…as usual…
no…not today dad…got it…not today…
what…
what….what…this is about trust old man…trust…i told you the check was right…i said that…and that should be enough…
what the hell are you talkin’ all this disrespectful…
you have never trusted me, my finger slightly waved,…not you…not mom…nor the others in this…what…family…right…I’m out to fuck you…everyone’s out to fuck the old man…well…well…right…
and what pop…four bankruptcies and no credit to your name nor a pot to piss-in later…is everyone still out to fuck you…you poor innocent victim of the world….well…fuck me…
the old man paused…sat still in a filled eatery where voices carried over a father…son…breech of contract…that’d been in the makings for years…
talkin’ crazy…always talkin’ crazy…you’ll see…you’ll see…
OK pop…OK…
nothing was said for hours…nothing to be said…enough had been said…
what’s the rush…why…somewhere you have to be…always coming and going…non-stop…this is not pleasant…nothing enjoyable in the least…not-a-bit…
always noise…constant noise…from TV…old radios out in the garage…dishwasher runs throughout the night and into the morn…and you…you sleep right through it…all is right with the world eh…
rules are needed…some kind of adherence…an agreement…’cause the scales are tipped…they are tipped…and I am not one to fall into the negative…not I…no siree…
and where’s my piece of cake…thanks I get…for you…for you…watching over all and sundry for a bed and a roll…crumbs…this is my plight…
enough though…enough…just keep the noise down…yes…it’d be greatly appreciated I can tell you that…
I’ve said my piece…goodnight…I said goodnight…oh… what’s the point…
and don’t think for a second this guy can be trusted..
don’t…
no don’t…and this is why…he has nothing to lose…not a stitch of clothing…not a meal… not a woman to tuck him in at night…nothing…
right…right…
yes…there’s nothing established…so..what does he do…this man…this recipe ready for mixing…he goes about taking what he wants…does not ask…does not submit…he takes…and he knows…he knows…
I’ve seen this…
you bet your ass you have…and he will continue this…’cause he has nothing to lose…right…right…this needs salt…
the grocery store reeked of cleaning fluids…as grocery stores do at 3 in the morning…Hostess Ding-Dongs take up the middle of the aisle…a pimple-faced kid text into the night…
over on 7 bags of chips being stocked…marked for freshness…always check the date…things go stale real easily in America…real easily…
an old man talking to himself at the magazine rack…,Julia Roberts $250 million divorce…fuck her, he chimed, She ain’t made nothin’ good since that Pretty Woman picture show…fuckin’ whore…
and me…looking for laxatives to get me out of this plugged-up constantly constipated American dream…always looking…
that’s all i ask…
just one flush…
was there a time.. when this…these things didn’t matter to you…to you…
house…car… pursuit of dollar after dollar after dollar…and for what… a scorecard is kept…
we slept in separate quarters…always did…never far enough away to appease..no…never…
and now this metal chair is my bed…a table to rest the head upon…in from the cold…protected… safe arms…those of Christ… Vishnu… Buddha…there is love…
no-longer looking for you…what’s done is done…
transitions….
it is comforting to sit in the coolness of morn…surrounded by lush vibrant colors calling-out…remembering you from years past…an old oak never forgets…
and there was a time when i left you…walked along highways…picked-up in truck-stops…hitching rides on backroads…sleeping in gulleys…you were gone…far away…shame on me…
never thought of the green in spring…the auburn of fall…dreams turned selfish…as all dreams do…why…why…
longing for you old oak…your friends pine…willow…the solace of nature…it is here i feel at peace…
what a fool i was to have strayed…a fool…
or…was i…
this city…this city…where blacks hate whites and Irish hate Italians and Italians hate Lebanese and the Lebanese hate everybody…this city…this city…
you old slave quarters…carrying man..woman…and child down to the river…seeking salvation…baptized in muddy waters…never was there purity…never…
and sections were drawn…lines not to be crossed…from Old North to South…everyone knows their place…watch it man…
where once business prospered now heroin runs wild in the streets…and the ever present smell of burning bush…a cocked-hat…a golden chain…a Swisher Sweet…all that is required…
here i take the Grand Avenue bus to a church of old where prayers can be offered…candles lit…sent up…sent up…for this city…this city…
where blacks hate whites and Irish hate Italians and Italians hate Lebanese and the Lebanese hate everybody…this city…this city…
me and the old man drove ’round the southside of town…bowling alleys abandoned…signs saying rib-tips and turkey wings…houses had seen better days…
shame ’bout that mall, the old man said in a Texas swagger, coloreds…you know what happened to that place..
no pop.., kept driving…just kept driving…
coloreds took it over…ran everybody outta’ there…couldn’t walk away from ’em fast ‘nough, dad took a swig of Pepsi…
is that right pop…they did that did they…right…,drove past Popeyes…an old K-Mart closed long ago…potholes…potholes…
all these black kids’id hitcha’ right when you walked in the door…man…you gots you a dolla’ you can spare..talkin’ that nigger shit…never stops…somethin’ for nothin’…
times are tough everywhere dad…very tough…, drove ’round the park…vagabonds gathered to conjure up magic…smoke signals…
I’m tellin’ ya’…the coloreds have ruined this town…just ruined it…they always do…, kept looking out the window…more empty stores…more lawns out of control…not fitting into the American scheme…
i see pop…i see…
some things never change…never change…
no…no they don’t dad…no they don’t…
dmseay 