Perhaps it’s to exercise jaws
But a naughty porcupine gnaws
On handles of wood,
So salty and good,  
But they’d prefer popcorn to saws.

I couldn’t sleep. I was lying in bed watching the patterns reflected moonlight made on my ceiling when I heard the faint beep of the kitchen microwave. I smelled popcorn.

I decided to fill up my water bottle and see who was up. I slipped on a thick, terrycloth robe I’d gotten from Lisa last Christmas. It must weigh 15 pounds and it’s so warm and heavy I seldom wear it.

I silently glided into the main room. Leong was standing at one of our two large picture windows staring out at the night. Her left arm cradling a bowl of ultimate-butter popcorn. Anna told me last night that Leong and her long-time boyfriend, who’s back in China, had broken up. They’d been together forever and had been expected to marry.

A bright half-moon was hanging high over campus, an electric ornament on a velvet background, its moonlight glint painted the world, like ice on mountaintops.

“I heard about your breakup,” I said, “what does it mean?” In Leong’s world, who you dated was of family interest. That person had to be approved, their bona fides proven - they had to fit into some long term plan.

“It means I can’t be tamed,” she said, with soft bravado. After a moment, she spoke again, more seriously. “It’s better this way - for now - someday..,” she trailed off.

I understood. All of our hopes are resting on someday, like so many wagers at a casino. I imagined some gambler, stepping up to a betting window, in an old black-and-white movie, saying, ”Gimmie 5 bucks on Someday to win.”

Something in her voice, a brittleness, precluded further questions. I looked at the clock, it read 3:47. I gave her a hug and yawning, filled up my water bottle from the refrigerator's filtered tap.

“See ya.” I whispered and headed off, back to bed. With any luck I could squeeze another hour's sleep out of the morning.

In the beginning the sky was cold butter,
hard and riddled with kernels of corn,
which, as the world heated, popped:
And thus the clouds were born.

My lifes a show
Filled with sorrow and danger
Its not a promising film
You'll hear them say
As the scenes
Play across the screen
I glance at the audience
The theatre is empty
Except for me
I reach down and stuff
A handful of popcorn
Into my mouth
Hoping that'll stop the sobs
Even though
Theres no one watching

We were victors, we were gods, we were keepers of the crown.
We had plucked the fire’s eye, we had worn the monster down.
We had pierced creation’s heart, we had brought its pulse to heel.
We had cracked the atom’s code, we were masters of the Wheel.
Yet we withered at inflections, we wallowed in our psalms,
We watched our brute reflections as we wiped our sweaty palms.
So stranger prayed for stranger, so father wept for son,
Till came that awful moment when the sirens wailed as one.

And the world went mad.

Whole nations torn, woods and cities burning.
Into the tempest life’s ashes borne;
What keeps the cinder turning?
Came the rains, relentless, deluging all.
Banshees of steam screamed—rising, rising only to fall.
Hurricane winds ever tapered, and then,
Sunshine enlightened the planet again.

And the world was seed.

Now, for every step its evolution takes,
This rock a million revolutions makes.
In seas, in pools, in hollows, in lakes,
Sunlight the author of Certainty wakes.
Eons, ages—incalculable span—
In seas, in pools, in hollows, in lakes…
In time, the journey of life began.

And the world blushed green.

Wherever life ventured, it flourished.
Fin begat foot, the land opened wide.
Through conflict, through want, brute powers were nourished.
Blood screamed its passage, fresh blood replied.
Whole species vanished, new species clashed,
Life savaged life in forests and seas.
In shadows of monsters a warm creature dashed:
Something unique was afoot in the trees.
Then one signal spring, embracing the land,
A wayfarer into the wilderness ran.
He distanced his cousins:  ***** he could stand.
He prowled the wide savanna,
His head held high—the Man.

And the world beckoned.

He ranged in tribes, worked wood and bone,
Built gods of loam, struck fire with stone.
One prize drove this hunter, one prey made him burn—
To break his world, to make it bend…he had to know,
He had to learn.

He wandered the plains of forgotten cities, all long reduced to dust.
He studied the fossils of iron pillars, and pondered on the rust.

Millennia passed, he courted the Wheel. His science grew apace.
Nature’s spires fell to steel, his towers took their place.
Cities blossomed, succumbed to war. Sacred trusts decayed.
Nations clashed like beasts of yore. Men took to arms and prayed.
Then one anxious fall, his slick treaties scrapped,
This warrior turned magician:  the cosmos’ source was tapped.
A hero, a giant, a god would he be!
He held this power captive—this power greater than he.
So we wither at inflections, we wallow in our psalms.
We watch our brute reflections as we wipe our sweaty palms.
So stranger prays for stranger, and father weeps for son,
Till comes that awful moment when the sirens wail as one.

And the world sighs again.


Thanks for reading Masters Of The Wheel. NOW PLEASE CUT AND PASTE THE LINK BELOW TO READ HERO, A SPRAWLING, GROUNDBREAKING FANTASY FOR GROWNUPS IN TWO PARTS—ABOUT THE FIRST HUMAN TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE THE PLANET. (BUT YOU MUST CLICK ON THE PROVIDED LINK AT THE CONCLUSION OF PART ONE TO ACCESS PART TWO! THAT’S WHERE THIS TALE’S AMAZING RESOLUTION LIES. But please...intelligent readers only!)
NOW HERE’S THAT LINK:

https://allpoetry.com/poem/14922744-Hero---Part-One-by-Ron-Sanders


Copyright 2020 by Ron Sanders.

contact:
ronsandersartofprose@yahoo.com

As the man on screen aims
His rifle towards the zombie's head,
I picture myself holding the pistol
To mine.
Tighten my finger over the cold trigger.
Pop
The popcorn in my microwave
And dust on the shelves
Are all that hits my ear.

I'm fighting the zombie.
The sunken eyed ghoul that
Haunts my mirror.

Distracted,
She’s holding the flat popcorn bag in hand,
Giggling into the phone while the boy
Idles time away rereading a well-worn tale.

It expands,
The bag in hand
Blowing up past her fingers
Onto countertops and kitchen floors.
Partially cooked kernels skid away
From giggles rising to shrieks
That shatter the lights around the pair and tears through the house.

The girl hunches in the kitchen,
Sheepish embarrassment erupting in pink blushes across the face,
While the boy slowly lowers the book made helmet.

His hands tremble, but she does not see,
For he shakes his head in exasperation
And goes for the brooms down the hall.

They spend the rest of the evening bathed in candlelight
Curled up on the couch with the taste of salt on their tongues
From the bag of chips shared between them.

i remember a friday
when i was ten, or maybe eleven
i was in love with a girl named lyndsay
not that i ever said anything to her
she was dating chad, an utter douch
i was smart
i could explain gravity
but i couldnt run
or kick a ball
so i did my school work
and daydreamed about the day
when i would be the coolest person in the room
simply because i was smart
and then one day, lindsay gave me a gift
a 50 cent bag of popcorn
she told me she got it just for me
so i thanked her, and went back to my desk to eat it
in the first bite was a piece of chewed gum
i couldnt spit it out, that would be rude
so i swallowed it
and cursed the parent volunteer who had been so careless
with their gum
twenty one years later
sitting on the toilet
it occurs to me that maybe lindsay deserved chad more than i knew