Poem # 68

A prologue to a happy ending…

[H]e had a nice home in Ohio with wife, daughter, Christmas tree, two cars garage, lawn, lawnmower, but he couldn’t enjoy any of it because he really wasn’t free…

from The Dharma Bums, by Jack Kerouac

Wheels self-propelled, rumbled, rolled her away from me,
but that statement couldn’t be, yet.

We were still together. I indulged her idea of sex:
fried fast food, hush puppies and the crumbs off fried fish.

O but how I longed for something separate from Long John Silver’s mistress,
O but how I longed for something separate from each other.

The highway blurs the places between here and now.

Coming to Lofty-Mountain

we pass cozy suburbs,
we pass supermarkets,
we pass farms.

Everything is tighter, even the speed limit
becomes slower and slower.

Maybe it has to because if it was much faster,
then I would be asleep in the next state over
the Indiana border.

My foot presses on the peddle
just to lie my head down and dream,
but I have to cross a river.

I remember my divorcee,
I remember I stopped to see her,
I remember one night while dreaming,
I remember before we left the capital,
I remember when we left Indianapolis,
I remember in a nightmare while dreaming,

though the rest of her family
fences in a juxtaposition between us,
how the family forgot to phone
for invitation of company their own,
how the family climbed the foyer stairs,
and how the family saw our situation scattered,
how it was scratched and scrawled and tattered
in a collage of our shared shit;
no one wanted to take up chores,
so that is how the family saw it sit,
a metaphor for our melancholic, molded marriage.

When the time came to cheat to cheer up appearances sake,
with all the eating out of what McDonalds, Burger King, or Taco Bell could make,

she opens the front door for her affair.
What words capture her dungeon master’s stare?
How autumn embraces the stale air,
or what our rotten rooms of kitty litter had to spare.
Oh, how love literally gave everything for every separate, shiny pair.

I asked a cherub of Cupid why his arrow’s prey  must suffer?
Until one other fall, far off a better, more memorable evening,
I found Cupid had an answer.
Two, to-be a team, meet unexpectedly, are Celtic dancing,
in a pub light of amber and laughter.

 

1 November 2012

revised, 21 October 2016

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