ONE WORD, MANY TEETH

(18th century engraving)


“Run.”
He felt himself
Losing control, and told me to,
Before the change
Took hold of him –
With rage,
The moon did not need
To be full.
For he was full –
Full of betrayal,
Full of boiling blood
Spilled over boundaries.
He could roll back his clock
Before civilization
Rounded off his jagged edges,
But he could not
Keep himself
Buttoned in calm.

And I could not decide
What the word meant.
His voice, so hoarse and low,
Sandpaper scraped across
Steel cords.
Too tired and yet
On fire, “going again”
Although we’d pushed
Long past exhaustion.
Should I
Run on empty,
As they say?
Should I run a scam,
Fake my reaction?
Run my gesticulations
Up the flagpole,
And hope he salutes?

His beard
Begins to spread
Over his cheeks,
His throat;
His brow,
To overrun
His forehead.


I realize
The word was
Literal,
But he is gripping
My wrist now,
His long sharp nails
Digging their trenches
In my flesh,
His palm ablaze
With more hair
Than my arm,
His hot breath
Close now to my throat.

My last thought:
Ginsberg never
Howled like this.


-- © 2010 by Jack Veasey


(All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced or duplicated in any form without the author's written permission. )

THE RATIONALE

(PD photo from Wikimedia)


Deliberate cruelty…is the one unforgivable thing.

Blanche Dubois in Tennessee Williams’s “A Streetcar Named Desire”

Some say that bullying is good for you –
Toughens you to face life’s many trials.
But those who don’t survive, and those who knew
And loved them, find this argument beguiles

Only the guilty who’ve gone free. Broken
Beyond repair, the absent spirit haunts
The family it left behind. But when
The guilty look back on the blows and taunts,

They see foundations of a cool career.
Their future is a long one, well-insured
Against the treatment even they must fear.
Strike first. Pain is for others to endure.

Though nobody will miss them when they’re dead,
They die thinking they stayed “one step ahead.”


-- © 2010 by Jack Veasey


(All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced or duplicated in any form without the author's written permission. )

ANOTHER MOTHER DREAM

Dream: I’m going to stay overnight at my mother’s house, after a period of estrangement. (Actually, the house in the dream is my grandmother’s, two doors down, but it’s my mom inside).

It’s getting dark out. The lights in the house are on.

Someone (Leroy?) is letting himself in to the Hocker house next door. I wave hello to him. He waves back. I’m waiting on the opposite side of Allen Street for traffic to subside, so I can cross to my destination.

The Hodgnoski house, to my left, is overflowing with pink roses. I can see them over the wood fence around the small triangular yard. I know the yard is all paved over with concrete, but that doesn’t occur to me in the dream. I feel a covetous pang. It would be nice to live with roses.

I finally cross. My mom is standing at the window, watching me intently through half-shut blinds. She is till angry.

I’m carrying a briefcase full of work. I realize that I’ve forgotten to bring any clothes, toothbrush, etc.

I climb the three stone steps, reach into my pants pocket for the key. It’s on a ring with many others, noticeably smaller than the rest. When I turn it in the lock, the end of it mostly breaks off, but I can both get the lock open and pull the damaged key back out.

My mother does not move from her spot at the window. I stand there on the step, not going in, staring at the broken key in my hand.


-- © 2010 by Jack Veasey

(All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced or duplicated in any form without the author's written permission. )

DOCUMENTARY

(1921 Schrader ad)


“Other men can’t begin
To compare to them,” she said.
The interviewer had removed
Him-or-herself, so she was
Talking to thin air.
She meant
The bikers
She revolved around
As if she were a moon
Caught in their orbit.

She belonged to the club
As a whole, and could be
Passed around. She’d do
What she was told,
Cook or clean,
Strip to earn money
To support them.
It was their job
To concentrate on
Big criminal business.

The “property of …” patch,
She said,
Was a sign of respect.
It would tell a passing stranger
Who she was.
I thought, but what about the stranger
In the mirror?

-- © 2010 by Jack Veasey


(All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced or duplicated in any form without the author's written permission. )