Social Distancing
I miss
dreading social events,
cash and eavesdropping.
I long for
bad cologne, pink eye,
making nasty asides
and registering the car.
I want to
whisper, interrupt,
and overshare. Tell
tourists that Fore Street restaurant
is on Fore Street.
I yearn for
body odor, root canals,
switching from zone defense
to one on one,
Jehovah’s Witnesses,
CPR and library fines.
I miss
circling the block,
splinters, unsolicited advice,
broken escalators,
complaining about
something else
and you.
Performing at the Fryeburg Fair
We did three shows a day.
Music. Jokes. Juggling. Old fashioned fun.
Nearby tents promised the WORLD’S LARGEST RAT,
the Duke of Windsor’s GOLD CADILLAC
and even more. I resisted for days, but finally
paid $3 to enter and see the REAL HIPPIE,
a lanky hair beaded guy meditating on
an Indian bedspread. Incense. Jefferson Airplane.
His dorm room diorama littered
with Just Say No to Drugs fliers.
This last fair of the season
starts hot (snow cones & lemonade)
ends cold (fried dough & gray coffee).
Snow was in the air between Thursday’s shows
as I went for a quick warm up walk
on the border between the RV’s and the side shows
where two bikini-clad dancers barely
swayed on a skinny stage in front of the GIRL SHOW tent.
The barker’s lackluster spiel and muffled boom box
drove their languid slow motion belied by icy hard nipples.
No takers. Then that kid I’d seen around the barns
open-faced, big ears, short jeans, huge boots, fifteen?
rode up on a steer.
He sat stock-still, close up
waist level with the listless dancers.
“You’re blocking the view. Come inside. $5.”
The kid pulled a rein back to head through the door,
but the steer’s horns slammed the shaky frame.
The barker pulled the kid down off the steer,
took his money and tied the steer to a power pole.
The shivering dancers climbed down and they all headed inside.
I hope they had a space heater.
I hope the kid loved what he saw.
I hope all of them are doing something else this October.
One night, I talked with a ride operator as we drank coffee
and smoked cigarettes at the Lions Club trailer.
I asked him what it’s like to travel around and run rides.
He said, “You know what they all say?”
One last drag, then he flicked his cigarette away.
“They all say: here we go.
Sherene
Marriage fell off her like a scab.
With Lloyd the ashtray was always half empty.
Sherene wanted more.
Maybe go somewhere.
See something famous.
That morning she leaned across the kitchen counter
drinking coffee from her Class of ‘99 cup
when Lloyd slammed the back door
sending the yellow clock sliding down the wall
to catch on the nail by the dog bowl.
Most days the dog went with Lloyd to the lumberyard.
Nadeen was all but engaged.
Ryan had already signed up.
Nobody needed her.
Nothing was holding her back.
Ryan and Nadeen took last syrupy bites of toaster waffles
and headed out when Lloyd honked.
Sherene poured her cold coffee
down the cluttered sink
and reached for the rent jar.
Lloyd had the pick-up so Sherene tossed Ryan’s sleeping bag,
her pocketbook and some gas station maps into the Malibu.
At the top of their road
she looked left toward the lumberyard
and cranked the car hard right.
Geodes
Outside she made me watch her kill chickens.
Inside was breakfast - biscuits, Post Toasties
and cold fried chicken. Outside Grandpa beat
the roosters away from me with his cane.
Inside I stood naked on the table
under bright light while Grandma picked off ticks.
Each summer we drove there from Virginia
to visit Ozark cousins, watch baptisms
and cottonmouths at the river, find the
can of bacon grease by the slop bucket,
broom and rifle behind the bedroom door.
When Grandma and Grandpa moved into town
Grandpa still wore his overalls. His brown
squeeze top coin purse and green Double Mint gum
in a pocket. Funny and mean, smelling
like an oily shed and dirt, he drove me
out to the old farm in his blue pickup.
No one was there. They were at church in town.
By the outhouse he pushed up behind me
then reached around. It was wrong so I ran
and climbed into the back of the pickup.
He said something about loving him but
I wouldn’t sit up front. Never again.
We drove off the farm road to the highway
into Mountain View where Grandma and Mom
were back from church and getting dinner cooked.
In the dirt out at the farm my brother,
cousins and I would hunt for tan lumpy
baseball size rocks and break them wide open.
A sledgehammer worked best but we made do
with whatever got us inside ones lined
with white crystals and sometimes purple gems.
They were real. But in Virginia they said
how could dirty hollow rocks hide jewels?
When I Go to Hell
I’ll be an event planner
or open a bed & breakfast.
I’ll wait for people to return my calls
and I’ll be cc’d on everything.
On the other side of each wall
a TV blares.
Every night is open mic night,
the only empty seats are in the front row.
Never alone
I’m always within earshot
of parents telling toddlers good job
when they eat some crackers
or looking disappointed and speaking
sarcastically to their teenagers.
On the porch loud men tell stories
about humiliating their subordinates.
There are no seasons and plenty of parking.
No meals, just snacks.
Between shopping for Christmas presents
and judging poster contests
we gather for Satan’s PowerPoint,
then break into sweaty groups
to list goals and objectives
on big pieces of white paper.
A Beginning
Fridays after dinner we’d go to the library.
Freddy the Pig plus grown up looking
books for Lawrence. For me blue
biographies where nothing famous happened
to Nellie Bly or Swamp Fox
until the last chapter. Plus at least
one Enid Blyton Adventure book.
After ice cream cones we drove home
thirsty in the back seat
ready to read.
I’d already read the Narnia books
so I was clear on the ingredients:
treacle, torches, Turkish Delight
four kids on holiday saying, “Do, let’s!”
Occasionally a helpful adult
appeared but mostly grown-ups
were dangerous in The Island of Adventure,
The Castle of Adventure, the valley,
the sea, mountain, ship, circus, river
wherever.. of Adventure.
Here now in the Pandemic of Adventure
we four friends have not been sent to the country
to wait it out – no brusque cook lays out
our afternoon tea and gingerbread,
no kindly professor ignores us as we explore
long halls, enchanted woods and abandoned mines.
The wardrobe’s just a closet full of coats,
sleeping bags and old suitcases.
But when summer comes we’ll
build a raft and float to safety.