1656

Down Time’s quaint stream
Without an oar
We are enforced to sail
Our Port a secret
Our Perchance a Gale
What Skipper would
Incur the Risk
What Buccaneer would ride
Without a surety from the Wind
Or schedule of the Tide—

there was this one time
that my family and I were
on food-stamps because my
wife was pregnant, and on Medicaid
because I got laid off,
because I was trying
to go back to college,
so that I could get a
piece of paper
that said I was smart
even though I used
crutches to walk.

because a piece
of paper is more
believable than
your eyes or
my mouth.

and, we were starving
so I used my mouth
to convince someone
in a tie that I really had
a disability, and a need
to eat.

that person, and his tie
asked me how long I’d
been disabled, so I
told ‘em…since 1975
is that long enough?

there was this one time
that my wife was pregnant,
and on Medicaid, and I bet
we were on food-stamps too,
and the babies that were alive
in her belly died.

so, I did the only thing
I could think of to do,
I got a tattoo, because
I wanted to carry some
part of them with me
forever, and have  some
part of something that I
could show you too.


there was this one time
that I worked a job
that was stuffed and
funded by grandmas
and grandpas, by
mommas and daddies;
by people that had done
the best that they knew
how to do.
and I would go see them,
check on them, making
sure that they were safe,
warm, and away from harm.

that job is the best job I ever had,
and we’re fighting funding cuts
because people think that these
folks somehow aren’t worth it;
that they somehow are facilitating
a drug or alcohol problem, or a
******* new tattoo.

there was this one time
that I was disgusted by all
the hate-mongering, lion-killing
veteran-suicideing, poor man hating,
cop-killing, killer-copping, Jesus-weaponizing
and just wanted to be a human
surrounded by other humans
and have those other humans
care about me while I promised
to care about them.

there was this one time.
and, it was a long ****
time ago.
*

©P&ZPublications; 2015
-JBClaywell

She holds me while I rest uncomfortably
She grabs my hand when I'm lost in dark places.
Her fiery spirit reignites the embers in my cold soul.
With a kiss on the cheek she gives me the wings
That I'll leave this dreadful mortal space with.
She makes smooth the splinters in my conscience.
When I kissed her again
The bed of nails I was doomed to fall on
Was transformed into a field of her favorite flowers.
She takes away my itch for the volatile substances I crave so badly.
She changed me.
She makes me who I am.

like inhaling
rotten ****
bile in your throat
a lump
chest tightening
night frightening
never-ending
agony
messed mosaic
of broken dreams
hopes and wishes
glass shattering
veins smashing
mixing, mixing:
blood and tears
tears and memories
tears and promises.

silk slip, kimono
washed the worries, permanent press
standing naked, very unimpressed

can you? will you?
swill me?
why?

who's heart breaks
in the ache
between the "hi" and "why"?

when I recoiled from your kiss
I only knew why
it's because my bed and I we were amiss

why I last told the other goodbye