Uncategorized – Page 63 – Aremyfeetofftheground

Vignettes in Yellow Brick

We were kids
In the old apartment,
Just sprouting into adolescence
Not in poverty
But we knew
Who the Bailiff was
And somehow
We were always saved
And could always stay
The bricks were yellow
The hallways dim with dirt
Broken windows
Smelly carpets
Pothole pavement
Freeze in winter
Boil in summer
Lazy landlord
Nothing fixed on time
But pay the rent we must
On time
It was home I think
For nigh on ten years
My brother and I
We two, inseparable
Bunk beds, one room
That was us
He had the top one
He was lightest
But not light enough
He came crashing down
On me, one night
Bolts not tight. What a fright
That got fixed, then one night
We had spaghetti for dinner
He got sick
Over the side, down the ladder
We fell in with little hooligans
Maybe we were hooligans at heart
Made stun guns
From sawed off hockey sticks
With clothespin triggers
Holding tight bands of rubber
With bobby pin bullets
The Police did not like this much
And we heard about something called
Juvenile Hall
Guns confiscated
Wrists slapped
Started a gang
With pretend wooden swords
And Mom’s old sheets for flags.
You’ll put someone’s eye out with that
The side door at Yellow Brick
Had a tall narrow window
So you could see outside
Coming down the stairs
It got smashed
And was left open
For a day or two or three
Our friend Stanley
Got used to running down the steps
And right through the open gap
Until one day the glass man came
And we didn’t know
We heard a loud crash
And screaming
Stanley nearly died
He was so cut up
The neighbors brought towels
They were soaked in his blood
There was a fire in the night
Outside in our underwear
In October, all clear
My little brother had a special friend
Named Stewie
But they moved away
His Mom Sophie would drive him
For visits, sometimes overnight
One time, she came to get him
They went to go home
And were never heard from again
Died on the road
Bad crash
Our little girlie friends
Started growing a little
I liked Rosie, and brought her cookies
Puppy love
There was Arlene too
She took needles every day
And the backs of her legs were red
We loved Elvis
And at thirteen came The Beatles
Change in the world
I went to work as a bagel baker
At thirteen. At thirteen.
Life had new things in store
It was our time
To leave the street we called
The Yellow Brick Road.

***

[Image: https://pixabay.com/users/mabelamber-1377835/%5D

Eavesdropper

At our summer retreat
I am ten, and a half.
From the outhouse,
I hear your voices,
casual as you return from the pool.
Such a ninny-
Won’t go in the water.
Howard, tell him he’s supposed to enjoy himself.
That’s why we’re here.
Unsuspecting conversations hurt the most.
They are honest and free.
I come back to the trailer,
fake nonchalance.
Hurt inside, feeling foreign.
They all go off to visit the neighbors.
I stay back.
What’s the matter, stick in the mud?
I say I will go shoot some baskets.
When they are gone,
I take a towel and go to the pool.
I watch. I see.
I climb the high dive tower,
and I drop.
But not for you.

Young man, old man

In February’s frozen spring
I came across a curious thing-
a solitary sapling in the sun.

It looked as if ’twere shivering,
with papered leaves a-quivering,
and the wind imparted voices to each one.

I thought its spindly arms were bare
until I heard the chattering there
and spied the little curlicues of brown.

And thought- so many made it through
the winter’s blast, the icy blue,
and held on fast to make their chittering sound

Found in a diary

Today, my Manna told me stories of the stars. How we, at the Hub, sent our Envoys far far afield, long ago in the Folding Times. How one of them came to a world of blue and green and white. Many lived there, but still there was much room, and bounty for all. Fleeces of white beauty floated in their skies. There were depths of flowing waters, yes! If you can believe. Creatures many and varied. Years divided by the weathers, and blessed by a life-giving sun. The one who stopped there saw these things. I said to my Manna “Why treat me as a child? These are fairytales to make us think there is a Heaven, no?” My Manna smiles and hugs me, tousles my hair. After all, I will turn 1,562 tomorrow.

Blackstars

Through a half inch chink in my prison of warm rubble, I stare. Gluttonous for the light. I screamed, at first. Now, breath is shallow and rationed. In thirty minutes, I will manage a gooselike honk. I am held motionless and squeezed in painful pincers of crazy two-by-fours, in steel and glass. I squat. I smell of myself. Never been so familiar with my own kneecaps. One arm, my best one, captive by a deadly weight. The clockwork beams coming through my spyhole show me flesh, so purple. I thirst. Three nights I count, and I am fading. These nights have been clear, and I see a star selection. For a while, the burning smell permeated all. Now, it is my own effluent and decay. I babble to myself ….the sad joke is on you now, brother. You proud atheist. If there was a Pride Parade for such, you would have been the flag bearer. You feel like praying now, don’t you? But you don’t know to whom.

All of this day, this bright dreamlike day, I see stars too. They are before me, black spiders pulsing. Please.

Open to the World

Gael, over at https://muellermusings.com/ has given us all the poetry that is needed in describing a visit to Antarctica.

Talkin' to Myself

There is no edge, no door, no wall. It is open. It is the end of the world. The filmy horizon is the only link to other continents. You are free to leave.

The entrance, however, is anything but open. Just getting to the entrance requires a bit of stamina and a lot of patience. You need to know the rules.

Rule#1. This is NOT your home.

Antarctica is home to whales, seals, penguins, birds, ice, snow and rock. It is inhospitable. The weather, at its best, can kill a human. This rule is not open to debate.

Rule#2. Be prepared.

Crossing the Drake Passage is an E-ticket. Our crossing was rather uneventful but seasickness was rampant. It is exhilarating and frightful. It is a major adrenaline rush. Let it happen. Know it is happening. Soak up the exterior feelings. Those are the ones you will remember.

And…

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Crazy crazy

I was combing the cat’s hair
he smiled
but the hair began to come off in clumps
soon all there was was skin
and his eye fell out

I had a lemonade stand
on a deserted dusty desert road
a camel rider came by
dismounted and gave me a cactus
I gave him lemonade
and the camel too
once I had the cactus more customers came
but they all brought cactus

at night, I was driving a bumper car
in a closed courtyard
buildings all ’round
my electric pole was connected
to the thunderclouds
I couldn’t get out
so I waited for the lightning

in a waiting room
for military service
we were all shaved
the guy next to me
had very bad jitters
and I had sudden pain in the groin
he pulled out a syringe
looked me in the eye
I nodded yes
and then there was a bad smell

a thing with insect eyes
stood at a lectern
while I was chained to the tree in front of him
the eyes were judging
as it looked at its book then back to me
I hoped for its disapproval
’cause I did not want to go where it was going

under the sea I moved, with gills
fat smiling lips
and lidless eyes
I thought myself King of the coral reef
until a fella with eight arms
begged to differ.

Haraview Burgers

Going on 50 years ago, I first began driving highway 11 north into Ontario’s Muskoka country. I and a group of friends were weekend campers in a park north of Severn Bridge. Just south of our campground, a burger place had opened. I never did stop there because it was so close to our destination and because of the sometimes difficult task of getting back onto the highway again. Haraview Burgers it was called, and I do remember a small sign in their parking lot that said something like “Best burgers around. Recommended by Kingsmill of the Toronto Star”.

In all of those camping trips, and the subsequent 40 years of driving past it on the way to North Bay with my wife, I noticed a few things: It seemed to have been operational for only a short time, maybe a year or two. After that, there was a CLOSED sign on the door. At first I thought that they were only going to open in the summer months, but that never happened.

Curiously, the place seems to have been reasonably well maintained over the years. The signs are still up, but I have seen no evidence of occupancy. The single exception to this is a curl of smoke I saw coming from its chimney one winter day. The photos I have presented here were taken about two weeks ago. I actually stopped there to take a look around. No one was about, and I did not knock on their door. I have never been able to glean any information about the place, even from the great God of Google, or from social media.

It now has a fresh paint job, but still has the persona of a burger place. I really do wonder how many people have actually pulled into that driveway in fifty years. My imagination says that perhaps an old hermit lives there who gets amusement out of peering through his curtains at the disappointed tourists that come and go from his property. Or, it could be a front for some kind of nefarious business, haha.

Next trip, I may just summon the nerve to investigate a little further. I will keep you posted.

Hooligan Heaven

June bug down your jersey
(Never jumped so high)
A one-eyed cat
A broken bat
A stolen piece of pie

A snake it was, a garter
That made you run so fast
You tortured things
You pulled off wings
Your parents were aghast

A paper cup of doggie-doo
You put on someone’s porch
Soaked in gas
(You silly ass)
And lit it like a torch.
When they rushed to stamp it out
You hid behind a tree
Then watched them curse and jump about.
You giggled with such glee.

One time, your little brother
(An accomplice, without fail)
Cooked a rat
Then grabbed a cat
And swung it by its tail

The kitty cat survived this test
And landed on its feet.
Your brother, under house arrest,
Still thought ’twas “pretty neat”.

Incorrigible hooligans
You broke your mommy’s glasses.
When Dad found out
He gave a shout
And tanned your little asses.

Small things amuse small minds

The funny fridge made too much ice.
Overflowed all inside.
I dumped the cubes into the sink, filled it up.
Hosed the hot water and watched them melt.
A studied simple pleasure.

A novice at laundry, instructed by Wife.
You do this and this, don’t forget the lint.
Slide out the screen, wet the fingertips.
So smoothly and cleanly does it bunch into your hand.
Looking like grey candy floss.
Soon, I’ll have enough for a sweater.

Pleasing memory. Dad got me a gyroscope.
The small kind that fits within your hand.
Wind a string around the axle, pull hard.
It will balance on a piece of thread.
Simple wonder and amazement.

Worked in a cigarette factory.
You lifted as many packs as possible, at once.
Stacked them on a cart as they came down the belt.
We had competitions.
You succeeded, or they were on the floor,
Shutting down the line.
We laughed. I loved it.

Now, I sit at home.
Combing the cats, one by one.
They see me sit, they form a line.
Hogging the time, they are in nirvana.
I am amazed at the hair coming off.
It clogs and accumulates upon the comb.
With each repetition, there is more.
Why are they not bald, like me?
They purr, and they lick.
Therapy for me.
A free and easy exchange of dopamine,
For both sides.
Soon, I will have enough for a sweater.