The sun began to fall from the sky
The moon turned a blind eye
The ground crumbled beneath my feet
The trees died out when I touched their branches..
The people sought to erase my chances.
The animals whimpered and growled when we’d meet
The clouds didn't make shapes anymore, just grey, depressing things floating atop me every day.
My house fell apart by one knock on the door. I hoped and prayed it wouldn’t be too expensive.
The building fell to dust when I needed to step on the roof, away from the ensnarement of life, and its cycle of despair.
The electric wires burned out only when I thought about the rest of the world, only faint radio sounds cured my curiosity.
The knife in my hand turned dull in a pinch,
So soft my skin couldn't be pierced.
The car exploded into flames when I walked by the street,
“Poor guy” I thought, “Poor guy..”
And soon every stone with the capacity to **** me,
transformed into chalk.
Why was this happening to me? I couldn’t tell you.
Until, one day, on Fairway Road,
an old lady, in an antique dusty purple coat stopped at my feet
I laid there starving, refusing to eat.
She introduced herself as Marilyn Scott,
Who loved her earl grey and the petunias she cared for so dearly.
Mrs. Scott went on about how there was a war in Europe,
One that threatened the lives of the people in my state.
Then, again, changed the subject to her profitable farm
down the ways, in the fields.
"The freshest milk in Montana!" She'd say.
Meanwhile I remained on the cold cement, wishing for this pain to end.
But she kept on chatting, and chatting.
"My husband just passed about a month ago.." She said
"My dear son Rob just graduated from his studies" She said.
"Bread prices are down, this week." She said!
and she said, and she said, and she wouldn't stop saying.
Meanwhile my mind was rotting, decaying.
Then she finally stopped, and gave a large sigh
And looked me dead in the eye.
"Mr. Arthur" she said, point blank.
"Mr. Arthur, how have you been?"
I froze and stopped breathing.
All feelings of hunger dissipated.
The cold air, like her, was comforting to me.
I realized, she acknowledged my existence, like no one had before.
"Mrs. Scott," I nodded my head,
"I'm doing fine."
With all my energy,
I leapt up, and brushed down my chalky knees, like a gentleman would.
And finally, taking my chance, I asked her: "Say, where could I purchase the freshest milk in all of Montana?"
And she said.
This all happened in great detail within my dream. Old Marilyn Scott..