Old
A
log-jam at the EXIT
of
the supermarket--
an
elderly couple doddering
in
the doorway...
A
woman with cart ahead of
me:
"what are they doing?" she
demands.
"Plow into them," I say.
"No,
I won't."
A
woman behind says "they
do
not give a shit about
anybody."
The
white-haired codger
tugs
on his missus' sleeve as
they
move, slow as cold
molasses...
The
woman ahead gives me
a
"look," eyes above her
black
mask.
I
feel like kicking her
in
the ass. "They are old," I say, but
neither
woman, front or back
gives
a shit
about
that.
Air Force
outside
of the CNS Pharmacy
a
guy walks up to me
says
"Air Force, unit bla bla bla, Pensacola, Florida."
He
offers to shake but I am not buying
whatever
this Gomer is selling.
"Locked
my keys in my car," he says, "can you
give
me a lift up the street to my hotel? I will pay you
twenty
dollars."
Skinny
and crew-cut, intense eyes behind glasses.
"Sure,
hop in."
He
sits. "Ever been in the military?"
"No.
Shit on that."
He
jerks in his seat: "What is the matter?
Don't
you love your country?"
I
side-glance him as I increase speed.
"Sure
I do. Just do not like anyone telling me
what
to do."
"I
have been in eight years. Best eight years of my life.
Let
me out here."
I
pull over and he troops out...
Never
did give me the twenty.
Day
Dreaming
while
walking down the street
I
step off a curb and
a
car flashes past--
the
width of a coat of paint
between
us: "whoa!"
one
of the yahoos inside
yells,
as
the
car swerves
and
I catch my breath, check
to
see if my leg
still
attached, then
get
pissed, and
scream
"you
ASSHOLE!"
But
the car,
already
to the
end
of the street,
does
not even
hear
me.
Ache
I
left the game with
a
stomach ache and
walked
off the field
with
Gramp, his
hand
on my shoulder:
"you
must have patience,
my
boy," he said.
I
did not need advice--
Grandma
gave out more than
enough--
I
did need the hand on
my
shoulder though (something
Grandma
never gave).
My
stomach ached for days:
Gramp
drove me to the hospital
in
the big city.
I
lay on the examination table
on
top the crinkly paper--
a
young man doctor told me
to
roll over.
After
he pulled my pants down
I
pulled them back up.
"I
have to look," he said,
his
face red.
"Let
him," Gramp said,
his
face also red...
On
the ride home
Gramp
told me that
I
had worms.
The
windshield wipers beat in time
so
what
so
what
"how
did I get worms?"
"from
something you ate."
I
thought of what I had
eaten.
Meanwhile,
the rain smeared the windshield
and
the wipers picked up the tempo:
tough
luck
tough
luck
tough
luck.
Wayne
F. Burke's poetry has been widely published online and in print. He is
author of 8 published full-length poetry collections, most recently BLACK
SUMMER, Spartan Press, 2021. He lives in the Green Mountain State, Vermont
(USA).
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