There’s a roach along the baseboard
on his way to someplace dark,
like a villain staying hidden
in the shadows of the park,
an evil behind the smile
a wink that goes unseen,
the chill of winter’s stillness
covers everything that’s green.
Down the hall a life is fading
nurses scurry to be sure,
with flashing lights and buzzers
the doctors all concur,
The waiting room is silent
Third shift will now begin
a crack between the baseboards
helps the roach to squeeze right in.
Someone I don't know and will never meet
picked coffee beans on the far side of the world.
Some large corporation has processed those beans,
packaged and sold them.
Sometime later, I bought them.
Every morning I cook them and then
drink the hot juice.
It is not all that good
so I add sugar and cream.
Only then am I ready to start
my day.
Unlike my Grandfather,
none of Grandma's hats
had fishing hooks or lures
hanging from them.
It's a rare occasion I get everything done.
Sometimes, at the end of the day -
I'll remember something I've forgotten.
It's then I'll justify to myself the reasons
for leaving it until tomorrow.
Now and again they'll be a trigger -
something will remind me,
like the sound of a school bus.
Only then will an image of you appear in my thoughts,
sitting there on the curb
waiting for me.
Several things needed to happen if I was going to make it across
the road and the first thing I needed was perfect timing. I needed enough space between the cars to
allow me to move fast but not so fast that I would trip and fall. The next thing I would need is to have the
driver of the car not be distracted, not be on their cell phone, or facing the
backseat yelling at their kids. I
needed them to be paying attention to what was going on in front of them. And I couldn’t have them traveling so slow as
to cause the car behind them to suddenly pull around them to pass. They would be traveling way too fast for me
to get out of the way.
One of the things against my success was the sun. It was to my left which meant it would be hitting
the driver right in the face. They would
have to have their visor pulled down or be wearing sunglasses or both. Failing those two things, they’d have to be
squinting. None of those things
presented a desirable situation.
I remember cousin Larry. He got halfway across and started second guessing himself, so he turned to go back but then stopped. What on earth was he thinking?
I didn’t see it myself, but they said when the Goodyear 75R-14 rolled across his body,
the acorn that had been in his mouth shot completely across the road.
I came to a clearing and was surprised at my elevation. I could see the city, including the thin
layer of smog that hung over it. I was
thankful to not be sitting back at my desk, working hard to make other people
rich, shuffling papers, fielding phone calls all the while watching the
clock. OK, so maybe I wasn’t working all
that hard. Even so, it felt good to be
up here in the clear air, away from the freeway, city traffic and craziness.
Most people think a single vacation day is a waste of time,
but I like it. Just one day to break up
the week, to clear my head. Just then,
as I stood there thinking about the Roberts report I still had to get
done by Friday, a red fox came trotting past me. I thought for sure he’d notice me standing
there, but he didn’t. Not sure what a
fox would have on his mind but whatever it was, it was enough to distract him
from noticing me.
I was annoyed at myself for being in this wonderful place
but thinking about the Roberts report.
I’m not really getting away from it all if I bring it with me. I needed to focus on something else. I tried to see the exact spot where the fox
had disappeared into the woods, but then I noticed a plume of black smoke
rising up from downtown. I figured that
had to be a fairly big fire to see the smoke from this far away. Suddenly I
heard the explosion. There must have
been a delay in the sound getting here.
Yikes!
That’s going to throw a wrench into city traffic. It was always bad but whenever something out
of the ordinary happened, everything would fall into a complete tangle.
Well, that got the Roberts report off my mind for the
moment. I wonder what happened. I’m sure I'll hear all about it tomorrow.
I wandered over to the far edge of the clearing and sat on a fallen tree, setting my backpack against it. I dug out my sandwich and bottled water. This looks to be a fine place for lunch, I thought to myself. Then I pulled out my copy of Stranger in the Woods, by Michael Finkel. I was about halfway through it. It’s great story but it is always hard to find any uninterrupted reading time around work. No matter where I sneak off to during lunch, someone always finds me and wants to talk or gossip about someone.
Even though I
was trying to concentrate on my book, off in the distance I could hear the
sirens from the fire trucks. I stood up and looked towards the smoke. It was still going strong, whatever it was. It must have been more than just a
fender-bender, I thought. Maybe even a
building fire. From the sirens it seemed
like a lot more than just a single firetruck. I sat back down and picked up
where I had left off in my story.
I didn’t
bother to look at the time, it just felt like I should be heading back down
into the city. I’d be back at my desk
tomorrow and I was sure I’d hear all about the fire and excitement that I
missed today. At the bottom of the trail
I tossed my pack and trash into the trunk of my car and drove back into the
city. As I got closer, I could feel the
smog start to sting my eyes. Why do I
live here, I asked myself, even though I’ve asked myself that all the time.
I was happy
to see that it hadn’t been my apartment building that had gone up in smoke. Everything looked normal and the parking
garage was as full as ever, and my spot was vacant, as it should be. Once in my apartment, however, I could see
the light on my answering machine flashing.
The number of messages flashing was 9.
Never had I had that many messages.
I pushed play and walked to the fridge to grab a beer.
Ted, the office building burnt down. It’s all gone. Everything’s gone. Call me.
This is Linda.
Call me when you get this Ted. Bill.
Hey Ted, you weren’t here. The police are looking for you. They have some questions. Where were you? Give me a call. This is Bill Evens.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I stopped the machine and just sat for a
minute sipping my beer and thinking about that fox disappearing into the woods.
I certainly didn’t need to worry about
the Robert’s report. Not now.
I do not watch the news.
I am oblivious to current events.
I haven’t any feathers.
No politicians can ruffle me.
I need not stand to be counted.
Having age in my face and gray hair remaining,
I blend into that which is Florida.
A Writer
A Keyboard
A Monitor
Given enough time and adequate inspiration you’d think I’d
come up with more than this.
Think again.
Not to worry. It's just a dry spot on the slopes.
I have gotten to a point where I can no longer simply sum-up
my life.
It doesn’t fit into a nutshell and there are way too many important highlights to single out any one in particular.
My story can only be conveyed through my shoes. So many, many years ago they sat proudly on a
display rack. They smelled of rich, soft
leather and they seemed to warrant the asking price. From day one, my feet were happy. They comfortably hugged and cushioned me against the harsh realities of life.
Needless to say, we went everywhere together. Should I happen to break into a run, they
kept pace, step for step. On those
occasions I was required to tread softly through a library, they never made a
peep. I had found my sole mates.
Sure, what you see today is worn and somewhat scruffy, but
they can still handle the curves, stop on a dime, and quickly change directions
at any mother-in-law sighting.
They have done well on foreign soil, repelled with ease the
occasional misstep into a puddle and have taken a shine to any formal
gathering.
At trails end, I have no trouble letting them speak for me. We have stood facing life together. There are no regrets.
When I look at the shoes of today, with their high price
tags and man-made uppers, I can’t imagine myself having to go through life with
such things on my feet. It would seem such
an uncomfortable journey, I'd sooner take the bus.
zc
This is the back of an antique mirror.
I thought it picture worthy.
The other side just looked like me.
The wooden dock stretching out over the lake is old and not
all that comfortable to sit on. I always
bring a cushion. Dangling my legs over
the edge places the bottom of my bare feet just at the surface of the
water. If I flip my feet up and down, I
can splash just a little. I usually
don’t do that, however, as it tends to scare the fish.
Deb says there’s a body in the lake. She says she saw someone, two summers ago,
dump it in here late one night. She says
she won’t put her feet in here cuz now the lake is cursed. I know the kind of people that live around
here, so I believe her about the body, but I’m not buying into that curse
thing. I’m sticking to my story about
scaring the fish. That’s why I don’t put
my feet in here. You believe me… right?
There have always been too many people moving in and out of
this neighborhood to notice just who might be missing. None the less, a detective came snooping
around here last year. I don’t recall
his name, but I remember he questioned everyone around, even old Jake. Doesn’t seem like Jake would know too
much. He never comes out of his house, except
to get the newspaper off his porch. Even
then, he scoots right back inside. It’s
like he allergic to fresh air or something.
Rumor was, Nancy, from Channel 7 was going to run a piece on
the drug problem here. Everyone I’ve
talked to was going to watch just to see if their house got on TV. That would have been their big claim to fame,
seeing their house on the television. In
a round-about way the mayor has let Channel 7 know that there would be no
report about drugs in our town. We all
thought that was an unusual statement to make, especially to the press, but
then again, all the cops work for him, so who knows what he’s capable of.
Here's what I do know.
Debbie, the one spreading the stories about a body in the lake, just
happens to be quietly buying up all the available lake front property she can. I’d like to think the best of her, but in
looking at what she’s doing, I’d say she’s up to no good. I’m not saying anything to anyone, but
really? I can’t be the only one to
notice this. And come to think of it, I
remember now who has disappeared from around here. It’s Naveen Porter, other
than Debbie, this town’s only other realtor.
I need to be careful. Sometimes I let my imagination get
away from me. I am currently working on
another book. This one is entitled No
Skyscraper – a short story. From my
computer desk I can see across most of the village. I think it is this vantage point that started
me writing about multi-story buildings and what it must be like to have a view
of everything, even the shenanigans.
to be continued
Clever in its making
It looks so real from here,
Green and thick, each blade in place
No bunnies dare come near.
Harsh and course upon your hand
Not pleasant to the feel,
But stand way back and take a look,
From here it looks quite real.
Never needs a trim or cut
It doesn’t grow a hair
Never need to rake a leaf
Or fertilize with care.
Your neighbors, several houses down
Got something they’ve been buying
Sold separately, and by the case
They're plastic dandelions.
😛
This is a temporary holding area until
I can once again locate my trash can.
Thank you for your understanding.
Be sure your answer is completely filled in
before going on to the next question.
If you make a mistake, erase your answer
completely. In fact, tear that part of the page
away. If you have a match or lighter
burn the torn piece and scatter the ashes.
But not around here.
I wanted to fit in
I joined the school band,
I bought me a Strum-Flute
you play it by hand,
I marched with the tubas
stood next to the drums,
no one could hear me
as I gently strummed.
Some students laughed
but I held my own,
And ducked when behind me
they played the trombone.
I marched with precision
was always in tune,
I got my diploma
by the middle of June.
Now out on my own
I’ll start my own band
nothing but Strum-flutes
you play them by hand.
They call it an iPhone
because it’s all about I,
I before see
don’t you get it?
It will take all your time
take a picture of you
and send to your friends
if you let it.
The importance of me
makes someone else rich
they’re counting on it
I can tell –
Every commercial upon the TV
makes a prisoner of you
in your cell.
Some people ask me where I get my ideas.
All I can say is that from a very early age I
paid attention to my surroundings. I watched
the people around me and listened to what they,
at the time, thought was important.
Over the years I saw the political climate change,
wars come and go and fashions being altered
just to stimulate the economy. I watched leaders go in
and out of favor and the art world highlight
one medium over another.
I took note of the educational system and
saw people in the music industry rise to fame
with but a single hit.
I could see the glaring holes within the
justice system and I watched as an
entire country said good-by to a loved one.
But mostly, I think it was the beer.
Sometimes a nice cold beer is just jam-packed
with inspiration.
The classified advertised it as a luxury cave. The real estate agent, Helen Parker said she
could show it to me at 2PM, so at 2 on the dot I returned to her office, and
she drove me to the property. I was surprised
to see it was in fact a cave. The front
yard was just a scraggly field. There wasn’t
any sidewalk leading to the cave entrance, just a slightly worn path through
the field.
As we got out of her car, she reached into the trunk and
pulled out a flashlight. She looked at
me and said she wasn’t sure if the electricity had been left on or not. I was happy to hear it had electricity.
Walking in, the first thing I noticed was the temperature
change. It felt very cool but not at all
damp. My next observation was the
hardwood floors. Somehow, I expected
there to be dirt floors. To my way of
thinking, caves always had dirt floors.
These were nice. Highly polished
and as we walked, our steps echoed.
Helen reached over to the rock wall and felt around for the
light switch. She flicked it on and sure
enough, all of the lights came on. The
place looked beautiful. It was very
expansive. There was a full, modern
kitchen off to our left and opposite the kitchen looked to be a family room. Apparently, the place came fully furnished,
as I saw a big, flat screen television, two recliners, a leather sofa, some
tables, and a few scattered lamps.
Hellen noticed my surprise and said, “Yes, it comes completely
furnished.”
We spent a good hour going through the place, room by
room. Each time we entered a new area I
was surprised at the detail and quality that had been put into it. As we were heading back towards the entrance,
the realtor stopped, looked at me and said that if I was serious about the
place, there were a few things I needed to know. Then she began to list them.
“First off, the post office won’t deliver mail to a
cave. You’ll have to get a PO Box in
town.” I told her that wasn’t a problem. “Cell phone reception is very poor towards
the back of the cave.” Again, I let her
know that wasn’t a deal breaker. Finally,
she says, “During times of hibernation, there is a bear that takes up a little
space in the back bedroom.”
I told her there were a few other properties I still wanted
to check out, but that I’d let her know.
In truth, I loved the place but wanted a little more information on the
bear situation.
It hadn’t occurred to me initially, but there wasn’t a front
door. The cave was just open to the
elements, not to mention the critters. I
began to wonder who lived there before.
Who had just packed up and left all their furniture and why? Maybe this wasn’t something I should be
getting into. I called the realtor back
and asked her if I could talk with the previous owners. She seemed very reluctant to give me their
name. I told her it was available at the
township office as it is a public record, so then she agreed to save me a trip
there.
“His name is Chesterfield.”
Like the cigarette, I asked.
“No, his first name is Chester, his last name is Field. It’s not all one word.”
Do you happen to have any contact information for him?
“Our office doesn’t give out any personal information. For that, you will have to go to the city
offices.”
I thanked her and the next day drove into town to see what I
could find out.
I think the real estate agent told them to expect me, for
when I walked into the Clerk’s office, they seemed to be ready for me.
Already on the counter were the documents and history for
that property, but that isn’t what I noticed right off. The office itself was old and smelled musty. There were two no smoking signs posted and
yet the crusty-looking lady sitting back at her desk seemed to be chain smoking. The ashtray on her desk was overflowing with
cigarette buts and a cloud of smoke hung thick over where she sat.
Are you the county clerk? I asked.
“Do I look like an elected official?” she snarled.
I didn’t respond. She
appeared to be having a bad day. I slid the stack of documents to the end of
the counter and proceeded to look through them.
I discovered Chester Field owned the property only 3 years. Before Chester it was owned by a Lilly
Thompson. There was no mention of a bear
on any of the paperwork, however, Lilly’s occupation was listed a circus
performer. I immediately wondered if
this was a circus bear that Lilly had somehow liberated.
My search to locate Mr. Fields took me to a dead end. From everything I found, it seems he left the
country and now lives in Germany. I had
zero luck finding an address for him in Germany, but I did locate Mrs. Thompson.
No phone number that I could find but at least I had a
psychical address I could write to. In
the meantime, I went ahead and put an offer in on the cave. I really liked it and didn’t want to wait.
My offer was accepted, and I was now in Escrow. Yikes!
Did I really just buy a cave?
Wire coming from the wall
to our plastic phone
Should we wish to make a call
listen for the tone
Connected to the poles outside
stretching across the land
We take this system all in stride
Isn’t it all grand?
Not good enough, someone said
this wire has to go –
So now we have a cell phone
to talk when on the go,
No more wires, no more poles
just voices in the air –
What’s so darn important
people talking everywhere
Had Radar had this little thing
he’d get Sparky in a flash –
and if generals were as smart as us
there would be no need for M.A.S.H.
It didn’t appear well
no color in its cheeks,
Whenever sloshed around a bit,
no life within its peaks.
I thought it to be sickly
in your face a little terror –
for what I thought
as not quite well,
you guessed a spelling error.
A single click
the fan goes round,
as I sit here –
it cools me down.
A second click
the fan speeds up,
my paperwork
it does disrupt.
I’ve never tried
the final click –
gale force winds
should do the trick,
all my pages on the ground
and my toupee
has not been found.
