Different how?

She asked,

There I was flustered, on stage

And explaining—this:

I don’t know what’s expected of me

Love, I think.

Something gentle—an empathic reach

Some life raft

Something I no longer have

Something no longer contained in the 5’8, 208lb wound

The one gaped open a blue moon ago & then quickly stitched shut;

erumpent with agony, as instructed by the gurus

“Share that. Share that with those who struggle” be still with it.

Admit your faults.

Be transparent.

Eviscerate yourself-Wear spiritual snot on your sleeve”

I was born of broken men mired in lust

The ones that taught me how to shave

weren’t my father

I don’t know what’s expected now

Smiles, I think

Something selfless; a patient nod

Some wise platitude born of the years

a willingness to help

something deeply held and respected

something others would Want.

That was so long ago.

I was softer,

I believed, had smoother edges,

put faith in The Process

I was younger and surrendered all the pieces

Fully expecting the prize, the payoff–cash & prizes:

Some expectation, something there

At the end of the search, some end  which

Justifies and rewards the means, you see:

Cream filling, a real ocean somewhere in the shell,

a jackpot, midget Irishman shitting gold coins

a money shot, something worthy at the end of the rainbow.

but it’s late in the day where nothing was made

and so much was burned

and the words so far

from the cluttered brain spitting these words out

I just don’t know what’s expected anymore

she’s asking me for poems

and all I asked of her was a question

she’s asking me to play a game

and all I want is a rhetorical dance

she wants words in English

and I scream Latin: quid pro quo! res ipsa loquitir

I play the hand that’s dealt

she shuffles the cards & says the dealer is going on a short trip

with no destination, no location, no further information

I don’t know what’s expected of me

this late in the game that is not a game

I am no longer comforted by knowing

all of this is temporary

The other day I was walking the hound

and the silent old man that limps up the hill in a musty old Pendleton

nodded tiredly, he said

we have to take care of the animals, we are all they have

and there was so much wisdom there

so much FUCK YOU for humanity

so much of a scream

at the raping pillaging bombing, bleating, babbling, drooling,

shopping two leggeds in that admonition

So when I was standing at the jail door

and the walls were smeared in shit

and the Air K9 frequency was fraught with Domestic Violence & See the Child Molest Suspect There Now calls

while we stood in the waiting room & counseled suicidal widgets

& restrained the wily agitated ones

I kept thinking of the old man

Telling me to take care of the animals

and I never wondered again

who’d be taking care of us

no one ever has

and even on a good day

none of us has any idea how to do that

to begin with.