A rolling narrative
describes every action. Intolerable?
Made bearable with time.
So we stand and laugh
at nothing in particular.
Laugh some more.
Have a bite of an apple.
Go on to the dog show.
Corgis look funny.
Go home. Drink. Sleep.
Breathe with the windows open.
“I want a grilled cheese!”
barked the stage man to his uncle.
“We’re out of cheese,”
the old man said.
“Well listen up, the truck has gas.
Go down to the store and pick some up.”
“I have no time for your petty errands.”
He was old, but his comments were fiery.
“Jesus! I’m on the shitter.
Just get the cheese.”
“Shit or get off the pot.”
Nobody did anything about it.
Not that anybody really cared.
Come to think of it,
I’d never seen his face before.
He wasn’t shocked, as most would be,
but calm, serene.
Nothing to say, nothing unusual.
No glints, no glares.
No locked eyes, no stares.
He’d just gotten his paycheck,
he was out on the town.
There were no signs,
there never are.
Dogs smell hurricanes and hand grenades
comin’ from miles away.
Someone saw that.
Turmoil built into my forehead
leaked around the kitchen sink.
No swirling involved,
no dish water either.
Silence, as I needed it.
Only sound the pounding of thought.
Happened like this.
A shriveled hand gouged me
by the side of the road.
Don’t know where, don’t know why.
That hand pulled me into the dark.
Couldn’t find the road again.
The trees couldn’t give me directions.
Pants ripped in minutes,
karma got me.
I looked at a doe,
she looked at me.
It started
like anything else–
a raging tide crashing.
The whole scene shook,
taken with tremors
and spitting up sand.
Howard sat up, content.
Content with what,
he couldn’t know.
“I’m goin’ to that game tomorrow,
goin’ to that game.”
He knew at that moment
just why he was so content.
Epiphanies are strange creatures,
made stranger by the price of gold.
Nobody told me
you can have an epiphany twice.
You don’t just fall on it,
apologize and go on your way.
No.
You need to court your visions
until they heed your call.
WHARVED 