Woke up with a war next to me

I woke up swinging,

with a war next to me on the pillow

I had a few hours of minutiae and meandering

at a memorial service,

I had too much coffee,

I dodged cars and stared down a ghost

from another lifetime

she insisted I knew her

I could not engage her

because the guy she knew

no longer was

he’s gone now

they called him Pink they used to

say nice things about him

they called him an inspiration

but now just an apparition

–worse–

a juxtaposition

better yet

just a prick.

 

This was my day: avoiding people

squirming with wanton lust

avoiding eye contact

bristling the black hole amiss

wincing during the eulogy

when they said

that he fell in love for the first time

at age 52

before the cancer came

and made sure

that was the last time

he ever did

 

I fled the scene

and then did 75mph to the cancer hospital

I didn’t want

to hold the door open for anyone

or greet the nurses softly

or smile at anyone or engage suffering strangers

I stalked the halls full of dark oaths

minced words,

gave up that vague foreboding

about how humans

vent and vet their petty churlish resentments

against one another

I mean everyone that’s married shouldn’t be

and all the accidental babies

that’s some indictment

on the whole lot of us

I say.

 

I’ll tell you about my day

Half the time my mouth’s agape,

Dumbstruck and impervious

Most of the time wondering

where the time and

carefully laid illusions went

 

I saw the old man today

he’s comatose now

quiet now

He can’t tear anyone down

He was tubed and tied,

harmless and helpless

the way he’s always been, I guess

I just never figured

he was like that

until he was

 

I sat with an old friend, talking about

Feeling Guilty for Not Feeling guilty.

The eternal exercise in human futility,

Struggling with the old man

Under the machinations of duress

Tubed and tied down

Kept barely alive

 

My buddy he called it

sick people storage

where they just keep you alive

all those resources

it all comes down to keeping a sack of flesh

breathing and alive

those are the people I pay to keep around now

they feed me the truth

instead of the lines of bullshit

that’ll keep me stuck and the Norm

spinning wheels and repeating the cycles

all in tears wondering

why the snake bit me

why the rabid snarling dog attacked

why the scorpion stung

why the leopard leapt and gnashed

why the tiger pounced

I pay them to tell me

Look, man, you knew

that was bad news from jump street

don’t come around here selling that tale

of woe, it won’t fly

the shit we won’t buy

shit with no wings

Leave it all at that.

 

I guess I’ll feel something about it

some day.
thinking about all his favorite things

and music

What he used to mean to me.

And what it’s come to now

 

Can’t remember when’s the last time

I brought someone to meet him

He’s always been a ghost

“That old so and so” my grandmother used to say

“Whoseits! Whats-his-name.”
The terror of little league and being told I was chunky

Being chastised for not being man enough

His silence with my mother

while I sat in the womb

they said I came out swinging

or maybe just trying to claw my

way back into where I’d be safe

alone and quiet.

 

I never hit no one that didn’t deserve it

I never went anywhere without solid intentions

and I left a footprint well enough

but Pops never taught me any of that.

That’s how it was after a while

The old man: Burner of bridges

Purveyor of harsh words

Doctor shopper, deaf to advice

Impervious to love

No kindness too great for him to refute

No woman too nice for him to fuck over
here I am now, 46 and full of regrets,

piss & vinegar

 

Still reaching for the hearts I trounced

Begging a second chance,

Swearing I’d get on one ink’d knee

And beg to be loved again

Held again

Adored by someone again

 

What’s left of a family is being erased

I’m a vanishing man

In a shrinking world

that’s becoming more obsessed

with itself

 

I’m irrelevance amidst ignored shadows

And don’t recognize the guy in those pictures

He’s no longer soft,

doesn’t know how to cry

doesn’t come undone

remains turgid and impassive,

a rock that was molded

forged by death’s vacant stare

by fate’s fires

by the retching dry heave of loss

and excavated chests,

of watching the cancer win

and the fatherless boy wonder

at some putrid sky

where the sun always shines,

where no seasons stain

where no answers remain.

 

That same man, he’s still holding out I guess

Wishing some elusive “you” were here

some cool and worldly “you,” anyway

Someone to save him from himself,

A destiny foretold

The one about guns and booze

The one about being dry

in a fire hazard planet

About just being

and being

real patient

despite all evidence to the contrary

despite

all of

the above.

-November 2014