Two Poems by John Harold Olson

 

It Comes Up

It crossed my mind
That I might die in my sleep
So I better say my prayers

What else?
There’s 700 bucks and
My pistol in a Dutch Masters box

Next to my bed
The box and a 7up
No cap and flat

The way I like it
The way it was on New Year’s morning
While they were asleep

What I am is old
And breaking down in stop action
Things just stop.

So, let’s be clear
It’s OK
I sleep like a kid.

Sunday Car Repair

The Cordoba with the primer-red nose
needed a master cylinder fix
because the cock was frozen with the cap
broken off like a donkey’s tooth, and leaking.
It was already noon
My step-dad said drill it out
And replace it with a screw.
If you find a junker at the yard.
all that work and the same problems
Think about your inclinations, he said,
or you’ll burn yourself. I’ll come over.
No, I said. I got it.
You’ll need to bleed those brakes.
I’ll be over in an hour.

Bleeding on the garage floor to get
Out of the sleet
My step-dad-dad pumping the brakes
Trouble light with the harsh white blast
Doing this task
So I can get to work on Monday.
I go out for a minute
To smoke a cigaret, and I see my daughter
In the dining room window.
She’s just watching.
That was a nice little house.

John Harold Olson - Is a retired Special Education teacher in Las Vegas. Transitioning to being a hospice volunteer.