dmseay

he kept looking at the bedroom door, I keep thinkin’ she’s comin’ out….but…she’s not….

the paneled piece had been shut for a couple of months;since her passing…

fifty-seven years, he stared, fifty-seven years and then…
gone…just gone….just vanished….

more Pepsi was poured over watery ice, it just happened so quick…one day we were talkin’….and then….nothin’….not a sound….

no emotion had hit me about mother’s death….not sadness nor celebration of a life…just that something had stopped a long time ago….and now…it had really stopped….

um…I sure do miss her, the old man said with a rub of the eyes, I sure do miss her….

did you take your medicine dad?…

yes…I did….don’t know what good it’ll do….we all gotta die some day….

listening to rain….it is not forced…
no-one tells it what to do…
the water just falls….gushes….pours…

a coolness comes afterwards…
even indoors it is felt….
and green glistens in darkness…
out the window it is seen…

I want to roll in the wet grass…
naked….I want to take in the rain….
why not…
they think I’m crazy anyway….

listening to rain….it is not forced….
no-one tells it what to do…

there was no other choice…
bud…or….bud lite….
her…or…him….

no participation…..you can’t complain……
your vote matters….
let your voice be heard….

no….again….no…
my voice says stop….
a pox on both houses….
no differences….

it is theater for groundlings….
produced by billionaires….
a fool’s practice….
I’d rather throw tomatoes….

two cheerleaders for the rich…
a made-up tale to be told….
written by Machiavellians…..
we’re doomed….

thinkin’……of headin’ down to Texas, the old man said; somewhat to himself; people had stopped listening….

but….what do I get in return, ran fingers through greasy gray, what is my return on investment….

couple a gals down there I knew in high school, took a sip of Pepsi, they never call….why should I waste my time?…why?

He stood-up and adjusted his sagging pants; dress blues….sat back down, awe, he stammered, Fuck it….just the hell with it….
no return on investment….

it’s nice to lay in the dark…
with sheets so soft.. piled pillows under heavy head….

symphonic snoring to gods….
thanking them for another day…
eyes shut……away….away….away from burdensome light….

to stay in this state…..
this peace….
a holy place….
giving….not taking….

stop taking….shhhh…..shhhhh….stop taking….

two men ate lunch….
a father….a son….a mother gone….
pimento cheese sandwiches…
Pepsi and chips the color orange…

the son spoke slowly….fractured speech….took deep swigs of pop…
cleared his hoarse throat…
asked for more….

wanna go for a ride, the old man asked….
the kid nodded his head in agreement….smiled….

maybe we could go look for mom….what’d you think?….

maybe, the man-child responded, maybe so….

Yo Yo Yo Yo man dis bus be leavin’ at what time?…

the bus leaves at 11:45

well…let me get my samwhich and shit…

the bus leaves at 11:45….

I knows what you sayin’ but I’s got my shit ta take care of and whatnot….

the bus leaves at 11:45….

that all you say…motherfuckin bus leaves at 11:45?

no….I said….the bus leaves at 11:45….

you best be here when I come back bitch….

the bus leaves at 11:45….

man fuck you motherfucker….

the bus…..

out into darkness….
shadows of trees
Red Roof Inn… $36.99

splotches of red lights….
yellow lights too gaze steadily….
and the windsheild glistens….

gone are the neons…
the towers of corporate angst…
and hotel doormen whistling…..

the sign says caution…
orange…black…caution..
perhaps I should pay attention….

the humidity is the same as December’s in New York….air-conditioning in public libraries busted….large fans blowing and blowing and blowing…a hum through the air as Beckett reminds me of my childhood…my manhood….my life….

a constant search for voice.. in communities….countries….oneself….always crawling through the mud and briers…the sticky part…trying to go at it unabashed…reading for salvation..writing as a sacrifice….

to lay it all out in sentences with sweat being a key ingredient….to our honesty on the page…in our lives…when dealing with others…..do unto others….as you….that’s that….

the humidity is the same as December’s in this new York… this new paradise where feelings have been tossed around…. a toll on body ,soul…the grind must come to a screeching halt….all is diseased….

a witness to drug deals gone a foul…crack whores selling services to less savory suitors….and always money…money…money….the final cut…a dime owed is fought for with wisdom teeth being a promised prize…..

and away from here….to somewhere new…or old that is new….to old college greens and falls of leaves as girls in sweaters walk past carrying books by Fitzgerald….Williams’ poetry lingering on porch swings…..and beer cans tapped…

easy….just an easy life….maybe a film….an art gallery…a lecture on Ginsberg…or Dylan Thomas…..a Joni Mitchell album played on a Friday night….maybe a Tom Waits tune……I’m ready….

leave behind New York…just leave it and perhaps return again and again as I have always….or is this love affair finally over…..I don’t know…..I don’t know….I have no wife….only a mistress…..

 

 

 

the kid ate sprinkled ice cream in the kitchen while grown-ups talked behind a closed door…

what’s your name? the little girl asked, Anthony…and you? she began counting the colored dots, Kimberly…you can call me Kimmy, her plastic pink spoon was lifted high in the air….

okay Kimmy….is that good?, she nodded her head yes, I thought so….mom’s back in the room?, Kimberly shook her head yes and the music from behind the door was turned louder….

mommy gets mad a lot, the kid said, she’s always getting mad at me, twisted and turned in her seat, do you get mad?, I told her sometimes, mommy gets really mad…

a Bronx Puerto Rican accent could be heard from down the hall, more Papi….more…Come-on….give me more….

she’s gonna get mad, Kimberly put her nose in the purple chocolate filled cup, I know when it’s going to happen…..right ’bout now….

fuck you Papi…fuck you mother fucker….

see….I told you….she’ll be out here any minute now….

The white door swung open and a stale amonia haze came forth, Kimmy grab your coat….grab your fuckin’ coat…., the Jamaican followed the crack whore down the hall….both worn down from an hour of rock blasting…

they straggled the walls and each other…senses gone…or…maybe in overdrive….

goodbye Anthony, Kimberly said as she was grabbed, I waved slowly…..and said,…. goodbye to you too Kimberly…