There was a woman with an ecclesiastic body.
I found out I was just one member of its congregation.
She was a soothsayer when the lights were down,
When she proved she was a succubus -
But what the ****, I've never been a saint.
She put the screws to me.

She used to belong to another man.
Now she's putting me through my paces.
If I had paid attention to the signs,
I could have seen my fate before it happened.

There was this dude I knew who was hard pressed.
I thought I might could offer him a place to crash for awhile,
So he could get his **** together.
Apparently demons have an appetite for gutter ****.

They took a ride in my ride,
And didn't forget my checkbook.
They didn't neglect to clean my house
Of nearly everything inside.
It was just a reminder,
Cause it really ain't no surprise.

That there's a burning lake
And gnashing on flesh,
Yeah, it's nothing but any empty, cold black well.
It's a Godless place,
You're on your own.
There ain't no honor among thieves.
Remember this,
There are no friends in Hell.

There are accusations to bring me down,
It's like I'm already dead.
They throw down their gauntlets,
They make every pledge.
I don't trust a word they say.
They're liers and deceivers.
All they want is whatever they can get.

They prey on fools and their believers.
They'll prophesy, then pass you by
Unless you've got an edge,
The dusty demons, dryer than a dessert segde.

They took a ride in my ride,
And didn't forget my checkbook.
They didn't neglect to clean my house
Of nearly everything inside.
It's just a reminder, but it really ain't no surprise.

That there's a burning lake
And gnashing on flesh,
Yeah, it's nothing but any empty, cold black well.
It's a Godless place,
You're on your own.
There ain't no honor among thieves.
Remember this,
There are no friends in Hell.

She never failed to cause me woe.
But, I'm not an innocent soul.
I guess what goes around,
Comes back around.
When it's harvest time, they'll know,
They done ****** with the wrong one.
Everybody reaps what they sow.

They took a ride in my ride,
And didn't forget my checkbook.
They didn't neglect to clean my house
Of nearly everything inside.
It's just a reminder, but it really ain't no surprise.

That there's a burning lake
And gnashing on flesh,
Yeah, it's nothing but any empty, cold black well.
It's a Godless place,
You're on your own.
There ain't no honor among thieves.
Remember this,
There are no friends in Hell

There is no such thing as kindness here.
I'll save troubles for another day,
They only multiply.

The more I see, the more I know
That strumpets belong with urchins.
They never will know,
Until they are each other's paroxysm,
But even then, they won't care.

No good deed is without a price to pay.

They took a ride in my ride,
And didn't forget my checkbook.
They didn't neglect to clean my house
Of nearly everything inside.
It's just a reminder, but it really ain't no surprise.

That there's a burning lake
And gnashing on flesh,
Yeah, it's nothing but any empty, cold black well.
It's a Godless place,
You're on your own.
There ain't no honor among thieves.
Remember this,
There are no friends in Hell.

There is no need to dwell on the exterior cliche of an injured soldier, the propaganda is superficial. Civilians have only plastic green men, heavy dusty movie set costumes, and Army-of-One heroes to populate stereotypes. Keep your images larger than life, no use touching up a paint-by-number. Mine was banal, foolish, and 19; enough said.

One fence is the fraternity itself, the next is brain injury. No other way to understand but be there. A Solid-American-Made-Dashboard cracked my forehead at 45mph.
Crumpling into the footwell,
unaware that the flatbed's rear bumper
was smashing thru the passenger windshield above me
the frame stopped just shy of decapitating my luckily unoccupied seat.
Our vehicle's monstrous hood had attempted to murderously bury us under,
but the axle stopped momentum's fate and ended the carnage under dark iron.
Shards of my identity joined the slow, pulverized, airborn chaos.
Back, Deep, Gone.

Unconsciousness is the brain's frantic attempt to re-wire neurons, jury rig broken connections, the doctor's desperate attempt to re-attach, stand back and say, good enough. Essential systems limply functioned, but unessential ones were ditched. Years later a military doctor diagnosed an eventual triage: Hypothalimus disconnected from the Pituitary Gland, Executive Function damaged, long pathways for emotional regulation interrupted.

I woke up still kinda bleeding, crusty blood in my hair, a line of frankenstein stitches wandering across my forehead.   My sense of self had literally dissolved into morning dust floating in a sterile hospital sunbeam.  My name was down the hall, words and the desire to speak were on a different floor.  Life became me and also a separate me under constant renovation, a wrecking ball on one half, scaffolding and raw 2x4's the other.

Waking up in the hospital, I realized I needed help to get the blood cleaned up.   A nurse came in, largely glared at me in disregard, and quickly left… for an hour.   She returned and brusquely dropped a useless ace comb and gauze on the blanket over my feet and abandoned me again.  This was my introduction to the shame of a VA hospital.  I minced my way to the bathroom, objectively examined my face in the mirror with shocking stitches above one swollen eye.  Gingerly rinsing my hair, the water ran pink in white porcelain.  I remembered the sound in my skull between my ears when a doctor scraped a metal tool across my skull, cleaning debris before stitching.  I recalled that in the ER I was asking Is he ok, repeating it like a broken record, knowing I should stop but I couldn’t.  There was also perhaps a joke about an Excedrin headache.

It was morning, and since there was no such thing as time or purpose or feelings anymore, I wandered to the hall with my only companion, the IV pole. One side was a wall of windows, and I was, what, 10 or 12 stories up from the streets of a much larger city than where I crashed.  The hall was warm and sunny.  I wheeled my companion to a blocky square vinyl chair to sit next to a pay phone.  I didn’t have any thoughts at all, or care about it.   After about an hour my first name floated up from the void, then with some effort my last name.  It took the rest of the morning to remember I had a brother.  After lunch we resumed our post, and I spent the afternoon in concentration piecing together his phone number.  God had pushed the reset button.

Thirty years ago the doctors didn't understand head injuries; they only recognized the physical symptoms. At first there was good reason to be permanently admitted to the hospital.  My blood pressure was unstable, sometimes so low that drawing blood for tests caused my veins to collapse even with baby needles.  My thyroid had shut down completely, only jump-started again with six months of Synthroid.  I had to learn to live with crashing blood sugar and fluctuating appetite.  For years afterwards, any stress would cause arrhythmias, my heart filling and skipping out of sync, blood pressure popping my skull.  Will the clock stop this time?  

There is always at least one momentous event in every person’s life that becomes punctuation, before and after.  The other side of Before the accident truly was a different me.  I have a vague recollection of who that person may have been, and occasionally get reminders.   Before, I was getting recruiting letters from Ivy League colleges and MIT, a high school senior at sixteen.  After, I couldn’t balance a checkbook or even care about a savings account in the first place.  Before, I had aced the military entrance exam only missing one question, even including the speed math section.  They told me I could chose any rating I wanted, so I chose Air Traffic Control.  Twenty years later, I thumbed through old high school yearbooks at a reunion.   I saw a picture of me in the Shakespeare Club, not recalling what that could have been about.   On finding a picture of me in the Ski Club I thought, Wow, I guess I know how to ski.   A yellowed small-town newspaper article noted I was one of two National Merit Scholars; and in another there’s a mention of a part in the High School Musical.  

This side of After, I kept mixing right with left, was dyslexic with numbers, and occasionally stuttered with word soup.  Focus became separated from willpower, concentration was like herding cats.  The world had become intense.

(chapter 1 continues in memoir)

Falling in love is dangerous. For when you fall in love, you pay a price. A price so unrealistic that you simply cannot pull out your checkbook and write down "here is my everything, please handle with care, very fragile" and expect it to cover the debt. No. You give your heart and your soul. Your mind is always cluttered with thoughts of them. Your body tingles when you hear their voice. You become addicted and you expect more and more, so you keep paying until one day, there's nothing left. You're completely theirs and your definition of home…begins with their name.

And just thinking about that is terrifyingly beautiful. Something could happen, and all that will be left of you are tears and a cracked voice to match the holes that cover the walls. Now there is no place to call home, you gave them everything. Someday you will be asked the question of what they returned and you'll reply: "they gave enough to make it seem like a lifetime of happiness, and more importantly, that feeling of love…was infinite."

In the end, there would be pain and you knew this, but you still them your all. You are stronger than you think and believe me when I say you will regain your all back.

Falling in love is dangerous, but you cannot stop it, you cannot slow it down, and you cannot escape it. So it's understandable to be scared, but just know it's okay to take that fall…especially for him.

Five summers, four lovers
and three checkbooks ago,
I've been here, as I am today.
Same corner, same shade of gloomy day,
and about the same volume of falling rain,
still a one-call-away favorite friend of pain.
Only now I am much more
clever and conniving,
more calculating
and dare I say,
more frightening.
My approaching steps are the pitter-patter
of the storm starting,
the thundering warning of my arrival
is Manila's hour rushing.
Words from my lips
are news you'd rather miss,
however I can't say the same
about my infamous kiss.
I am older, and longer are my to-do lists.
My patience is longer,
but my heart no longer sighs or beats.

My Father's mother wrote me a check
And though she has a checkbook
with her name on it
From four years ago,
She sent me the decadent sum
of twenty-five dollars
On a slip of paper with a name
that was of her husband,
My Father's Father,
And still is.

When I look at this check pinned to my wall
I am reminded of the man,
The eighteen-wheeling man,
And how a few years ago I was afraid
and unamused
So I did not peek into his open casket.

It was a year since I had seen him,
And 'goodbye' escaped my lips (which were sealed
incredibly) until he was lowered.

I hope he went to heaven; if he did not
I am sure I will say 'hello'
After I cash this check,
But not yet.

By Bob Englehart
(based on a true story)


Ben Hogan was the strongest man.
The game had ever seen,
The purest golfer in the world,
Who’d ever graced a green.

He had one dream and only one:
To play a perfect round,
Eighteen glorious holes-in-one
Before he’s in the ground.

One day a wealthy patron,
The richest man in town,
Said “Ben, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,
If you play that perfect round.

I’ll give you a million dollars,
More than fifty grand a stroke.
If you can do what no man’s done.”
Said Ben “Is this a joke?”

“Let’s do it now” the man said.
“Lets have a little fun.”
“OK”, said Ben.  “I’ll get my clubs.”
And they walked to number one.

He put his ball down on the tee,
The turf was Kentucky Blue.
He squared his body to the plane,
And swooped his follow-through.

Oh, he started on the first one,
And heaved his mighty whack!
It rolled onto the high side
And dribbled in the back.

The next one was a dogleg,
He waved the crowd away,
The gallery was silent now,
The trees began to sway.

A little breeze had risen up,
He put his club back in,
And took out something with less loft
And a little more backspin.

He hit it with a wallop!
It carved into the wind,
It chose a path below the wrath
And bounced and rolled.  It’s in.

The third one was a downhill,
With water on the left,
A line of trees behind the stream
And sand traps hard and wet.

Ol’ Ben let go a low one,
It swallowed up the air,
And blew right through an apple tree,
A peach tree and a pear.

That ball had so much on it,
Though it hardly did rise up,
It scattered rocks and leaves and dust
‘Til it rolled into the cup.

Its cover had unraveled,
Ben bent to lift it out.
He gave it to his caddy
Who gave a mighty shout.

Number four and five the same,
Perfection every shot,
Six through nine were ones apiece.
He was thirsty now and hot.

Number ten, the toughest hole
The golf course had on tap,
A double-dogleg, raised up green,
And a bunker called The Trap.

The Trap was a crater in the ground,
With a rope to climb on down,
And a flashlight on the bottom sand,
By a skull some golfer’d found.

Ol’ Ben just squinted skyward,
And lifted up his chin,
“I want to try to make this shot
Before the darkness settles in.”

He came down through that golf ball,
With a smile of purest pleasure,
And it headed for The Trap at speeds
Impossible to measure.

It dipped into the chasm,
And headed for the gloom,
It plunged down deep in the abyss
‘Til it hadn’t any room.

It hit the skull like a bullet,
Some bone was blown clean off,
Out the top of the Trap it flew
And lined up with the moss.

It rolled two hundred yards or so,
And headed for the cup,
And dropped in with a gentle plop
With its logo facing up.

Eleven, twelve and thirteen,
Were handled much the same,
You couldn’t hold a candle to him,
When Ben was on his game.

The next four holes were all alike,
The ones that came before,
All holes-in-one were on his card,
No twos were on his score.

He strolled up to the eighteenth tee,
His heart was beating loud.
He put his fingers to his lips,
And quieted the crowed.

The last one was a short one,
A straight-ahead par three
There were no hazards anywhere,
No sand trap, pond or tree.

“This should be a snap, ol’ sport”
The patron said as he looked.
He reached into his pocket,
And got out his checkbook.

Ben hit the ball without a tee,
A divot flopped in front,
The ball flew forward to the rough
Like a major-leaguers’ bunt.

It straightened out and bounded for
The cup which was dead ahead,
His target clearly right on line,
“Draino,” the patron said.

But deep inside that little hole,
In the center of the green,
A bug was singing courtship songs
That filled the round ravine.

And on the edge…above him,
His girl bug sat and giggled,
And fluttered sixteen eyelids
Her antennae bobbed and jiggled.

The ball snuck up behind her,
It didn’t see her charms,
And it knocked her off the slippery edge
Right into her boy bug’s arms.

The ball stopped when it hit her.
It wouldn’t moved an inch.
The patron’s eyes popped real wide,
Ben Hogan didn’t flinch.

Ben couldn’t know the truth of it,
He only knew he failed.
He took it all upon himself,
And stomped the ground and wailed.

Other dreams would have to wait.
He couldn’t rest until
He turned around and headed back
To the first tee on the hill.

They say his ghost’s still out there
And on moonlit nights you’ll hear
The pounding of his irons
Against the dimpled sphere.

Ever since I can remember, Barbara has been coming to our home
With her poofy hair and her powdered cheeks, all in a cloud of pink perfume.
She would speak in the fragile, broken voice of a woman well beyond her years,
And Mother would beckon her cheerfully to sit at the table in our dining room.

With whatever coffee was in the *** and whatever Danish found,  
Mother would prepare the table and invite my older sister and I to gather round.
From noon to three they’d gab and chat and flip through the catalogues
That Barbara the Avon Lady had brought.

My sister and I would thumb through glossy, vibrant pages
Of blushes and eye shadows, eyeliners and mascaras.
But I, I would thumb quickly and tire even faster
At the conversation of the table that awaited me, inevitably, after.

With feigned interest, I would sit there a bit
And watch as my older sister would, more patiently, fake it.

I’d grab a cookie and then leave
Mother with her checkbook and her bitter black coffee,
Barbara with her perfume cloud and cheeks all porcelain powdery,
And my sister, with her blonde hair, which was just like mine,
But which tried, much harder to grow much faster.
Yes I would flounce away with my neck-length locks,
And go play with my younger brother.

That silly flood made me
Tread all the way down
Here.  
Political pensions over.
Spent on pens and ties.  
Bipartisanship is basically
A commandment now.  They’re
Only there because they have to be, I say.  
They would send relief,
Should I wait a week so the
Check don’t bounce? I
Know how that goes. They
Got a profit on us anyway.
They’re checkbook turned to
Chicken scratch, more like chicken ****.
We’ll see how that goes.
At least I got time to locate
My house that floated off its
Hinges a few miles south.  


*Note: these next poems I’m posting are going to be more political because it’s a project I am writing for a conference.

I'm all spent
No, really
It's just that one boy wanted my love and one wanted my virtue
But I'm not sure which boy wanted what
All I know is that I'm all spent now
I mean,
I gave all my love to the first boy
And looking back
It seems all he wanted were kisses
And the second boy
Well
You can guess some of the things I gave him
But looking back
It seems that all he wanted was words of affection that kisses can't buy
I can only assume
I mean, I wasn't very good at balancing my checkbook when it all started payrolling out like this
All I know is that I'm staring at the bank account and realizing
I have nothing left to give anyone anymore

We see life in the subways.
On the playground.
In the garden.
Even in space, on planets covered in hostile frozen water.
But all of it is wrapped in parcels.
Nobody knows what a microrganism is thinking.
Me, I like to imagine what
they'd say.
Stories about the bag lady,
wearing a quilted poncho, once a blanket,
clutching a bag with a drawing of a lion peeking out of the top.
How did she land?
I stare into strangers eyes,
imagining how they'd feel next to me in bed.
If their hair would be soft if it accidentally brushed my arm.
Does the lost looking girl balance her checkbook in her head,
or did her boyfriend leave her last night? Did she remember to pay rent?
Did the bus driver eat breakfast this morning.
If only I could ask.
What prevents us from pricking the thin casings of our fleshy balloons.
We walk around in bubbles, draw lines around us.
Somehow everyone got the memo not to toe those.
Even the three year old, flicking his eyes up fearfully to you,
then his mother, when she pulls him too fast in the market
and his hand bumps your market basket.
In-scripted on our genes, and
woven into our jeans.
Nature briefs nurture.
They have lunch together, just before babies are born.
Then the stork kisses them on their tiny little foreheads.
They scream because that's just
too young to have to absorb all those rules.

chapter three


June 4th. 1980;


The day, it’s the morning of June 4th.  It’s Wednesday; I go up the block to be with Kelli; her friend Lynne is a sleepover guest, this day. I and Lynne have never got along but if I want to be with Kelli than I’ll have to hang with Lynne for the day. We’re watching “The Price is Right” on television and Lynne went inside for a while. After a time she comes in laughing!?
“I was just on the phone with Barbra B. and she’s off and running…  Let’s go down by her house and see what’s there to watch!?”  Kelli and Lynne get into the front-seats of Kelli’s White Buick Electra 225
I was in the backseat; the two of them were laughing up a storm! Kelli drives up Calamus ave. until she nears 74th. Street; this is where Barbra B. lives. Barbra is frilling a most extremely large kitchen-knife; it must be the biggest knife in her house?! Here she comes with her father chasing up behind her?  He’s trying to catch-up and stop this girl from getting to whatever place she is so hard-pressed to get too???
Lynne slaps onto the side of the door, Kelli slows and Lynne rolls down the window then sticks-out half her body; she waves over to Barbra B. and screams, “Hey Barbra, what’s going on?”
Kelli says, “What are you doing?”
“Where’re you going? You need a lift? Come on there’s plenty of room in the back!”  The door-locks pop open… “Come-on we’ll take you where-ever you’re going!”
Barbra heads towards the car; Kelli, grips the wheel, laughing; I know this laugh… Kelli has no idea what’s going on?! Barbra takes hold of the door as her father reaches her; he grabs her arm and pulls her hand away; Barbra’s father yells to Kelli, “Get out of here; Leave!”
Kelli steps on the gas and drives off!
Heart’s racing… ‘Holy crap, that crazy ***** had her hand on the door? She was about to be inside this car, she had a knife; she, she, she be sitting next to me?! What the hell just happened???’
Kelli drives back towards the house; the two of them seating in the front seat… laughing?! Not the same laugh but…, laughing! Lynne’s, an all too familiar sort; it’s a kind I heard in the silent-times unspoken about; a delight to a well done of what just happened.
Kelli’s, her laugh is also all too familiar, hers, is the kind that reassures. It’s the kind I’d feel deep inside me at three in the morning while swinging, inside Little Bush Park, on those swings beneath moonlight knowing, oddly enough, I’m safer there at that moment than I’d be anywhere-else.
Kelli parks up on the corner, on the side of Tootie’s house; she runs across to store for soda, cigarettes and stuff then we went upstairs.
“What the hell was that…?” Kelli says, laughing, while she slaps the bag onto the table; bag brakes open and as liverwurst, cheese, bottle of soda and the cigarettes flies off to all parts of the kitchen!? “What did you do? That was f----- up!?” Kelli starts to fix us lunch as Lynne tells us about what she was doing in the kitchen while we were watching The Price Is Right.                    
  
Lynne calls up Barbra’s gay-lover and tells her she’s Barbra’s (formerly) ex-girlfriend and that she’s calling to let her know Barbra and she are back together so she’ll no longer be needed or wanted in their lives!  
Afterwards, Lynne calls Barbra’s saying to Barbra, she’s Barbra’s ex-girlfriend’s newest lover and she’s calling to inform her,Barbra, that Barbra’s ex and this girl’s new lover are bopping the sheets with each-other and the two of them are being played as fools; as one could imagine and as we saw for ourselves, Barbra went into a high-speed tailspin. Barbra snaps?!  And now she is out there trying to go end these two women in a pool of their own blood!?  
Unbelievably, Lynne still thinks what she made happen is a big fat hoot???
Kelli, “What the hell were you thinking???”
Lynne looks at Kelli, and with this snide tone and smirk on her face she says,” What… I was bored! Did you see Barb’s father’s face?” laughter erupting from her as she turns to get her stuff out of Kelli’s bedroom; “Hey it was fun!”
Kelli,” Oh brother; you’re…? Hey, get ready and I’ll drive you… home.”
Kelli looks at me and we both put hands up with baffled looks?!          
It’s just around 3 pm. as Kelli rolls up to Lynne’s to drop her off. She asks Kelli to drop her down at the bar she hangs-at so she could find-out what’s been going on there.
Kelli did and on the way back she stops by Julia’s, her mom’s, work; Julia gives us a list and we go over to key-food to shop.
While we’re shopping Kelli keeps, “I can’t get over what we saw???”
I kept thinking how did Lynne know so much of Barbra’s love-life??? She knew names, places and everything she’d need to get that girl Barbra to to such a point and state?’ I think Kelli and I were both shaking from this for the rest of the day.
  Kelli drops me off, goes parks and goes into house.
I remember this date so well because later that night at around 2:30 in the morning I was at my father’s door knocking?!

” Dad? Dad? Dad; you need to get… You have to get-up!?”
My water broke??? My due date’s not ‘til September 18th. I first thought, ‘Oh no not again?! This can’t happening; … not again?! But, there was no pain, no blood, and no sense of dread like the other times?
I went into my room and grab onto my bag and what-ever-else I thought to take; I figured, by this time my dad would be ready to bring me up to the Boulevard and we’ll cab it to St. John’s. He wasn’t in the middle-room; he wasn’t in the kitchen I knocked on the bathroom door and… He’s not in there? Maybe he went up to call a cab to pick me up at the door?? I’d think he would… He’d have said something…,  like when you have what you need I’ll be downstairs I’m going up to get a cab??? The hall-door’s closed?!’
“Holy crap?!”
No, no, no, I go back to my Dad’s bedroom door and knock. “Dad…? “
“What?” My eyes nearly pop out of my head!
I try to open the door but as usual the lock is on? “Dad?! My water broke???” As one could imagine my voice is no-longer an indoor voice?!  “Never mind broke it’s like the dam broke here and there’s water everywhere out here! Come on you have to get up… you need to take me to St. John’s?!”  
Pin-drop silence…?
“Dad?”
This low soft moaning whimper comes from behind that locked door, “Can it wait until the morning?”
  ??? Bang! Needless to say dad needs a new door-lock.
“Nelson…; Get up!”
“Ok.” Slowly he gets to his feet. “I don’t know why…, now? Why can’t you wait ‘til morning?”
“No, now.” In my head,’ Maintain: Four six-packs… I’m lucky I’m going alone?!’
“I need coffee? What the hell is all this water on the floor?”  
   “Dad? Dad; … that would be me?! It’s why you’re up?  We need to go… St. John’s?! Let’s go!”
Ever notice how when you need… there’s never one to be found??? Phone-booth! Lindy’s cab come and picks us up; not one yellow-cab? We get there and they check me out.
The doctor, “You have had what’s called a premature rupture of membranes; you’re being admitted so you can continue to be monitored. Your baby’s vitals but…; we want you to understand the baby’s condition is at high-risk it’s holding its own.”
“Doctor…?” My eyes begin to whelm-up…
“Miss Rose…” The doctor places his hand on my arm, “You need to remain claim; I have the nurse come give you something and I’ll come check on you when they put you in a room; for now remember the vitals are good.”
“Thank you.”
“Ok; your father’s outside, I have him brought in to you.”  
I told him I’d have to stay and he should go home.
“You have money for a cab?”
“My bag is under there, Dad.”
You know, it’s strange; he has no problem asking me to give him money so he could get home!? He doesn’t know where I get money… But, he couldn’t care less?! And, I doubt very much even if he knew it would bother him; hem, he’s lived off her all these years…, knowing that I’ve been signing Elaine’s name and cashing her checks from the checkbook I took and packed in my bag the day I left that place in Brooklyn would faze him?! Well maybe if he was aware I only cashing $50. to $100. At a time out of an account which has $33,000. In it would?! I stopped writing checks after I bought everything I needed for a baby until a baby is one month old; after $1700. I didn’t take anymore. Till the day my mother died neither she or I ever said a word about that checkbook. And, I know she knew… every time a check was cashed.  When I cashed them at Manufacture Handovers Bank would confirm with a call before any check cashing; they did it since my brother, Kevin, cashed out a $12,000 check and left town! A signature that was in no way like my mother’s! The bank made a deal to replace half?! I’m sure she could have had ever last penny back but the bank would have had police-case opened and a warrant out for Kevin and she never did turned her back on that boy?! That check wasn’t even, close-to, the worst thing that boy had done. The day he died I smiled, enough said.  Well, I think she thought I would have felt bad and come home and I’d do what she wanted me to do that day.

The sun’s coming up… They just put me here in this room, room 410; I hear the Doctor down the hall. I hope he has good things to tell me!? I pull the drape to see him when he comes in the door; a circle of people are out there with charts. They’re coming in…,”Miss Rose, these are the team who will be watching over you.” Doctor was saying their names but I wasn’t hearing him; all I want was for him to tell me the baby’s going to be alright. “Miss Rose I spoke to your GYN and he informed me you were already aware of this being a high-risk pregnancy?
“Yes.”
“The chart says you been pregnant before?”
“Yes; never over five months.”
‘Well, you do have that in your favor; although, there’s still no… Miss Rose? What wrong?”
“There’s… No…”
“Listen!” he places his hand on my arm. ”Understand what I’m saying; we’re monitoring the vitals and you and your baby are, for right now, fine. The longer that baby stay in there the better be the chances of survival. Do you understand this?”
“Yeah”
“Good; in order for this to be we will need to keep you in the most sterile environment possible. Do you understand what this means? I can see you’re not; Miss Rose you’re going to have to stay in the hospital until the baby is born. And you’ll need to be on complete bed-rest so we can continue to monitor the baby. This means no wondering the halls this is a private room and you have a bathroom all to yourself no getting out of bed just to walk around, no unnecessary movement you need to stay pregnant for as long as you can. Now, you understand what I’m telling you?”
Crap! I look at this doctor like he just grew three more heads??? “You want me stay here, and to sport this bed? Until, September 18th?”
“No… Miss Rose September 18th Is full-term an ideal time for the baby; we already know that won’t happen that date’s gone and is impossible now. But the idea is to now get you as close as we can to that date. Let’s just take this a day at a time. I come and check in on you later. Remember, no getting up except if you need to use the bathroom. Ok?”
The bathroom only; got it!”  
The doctor leaves my room… Its Thursday morning 7:12 am. June 5th. 1980
Mind this point, it’s still 1980?! You can smoke inside a hospital; and, if you’re in a private room without Oxygen Tanks in use.
The date and time of baby’s birth is...; Friday, morning, on June 6th. 3:54 am.
They took him right away from the delivery room I only saw him from the mirror up in the corner of the room; you know the kind where things are closer than they look type’s… they put me back into my room. It’s 7 am. I know, I have had a baby boy but I haven’t met him? Three hours not one word; not one word to me by anyone here?! Did something happen? Again.
It is 7:10am. Door, to my room, opens… The doctor steps in… “Miss Rose?” he walks to the side of my bed. “Has anyone been in to talk to you?”
“…no.”
“We need to talk to you about what is next for your son…”
“My, son…” I thought sure… he was going to say???
Yes, they are ordering transport for him, now; our hospital isn’t equipped to care for his needs we need to rush him to another hospital that can give him the best chances to survive this early most… we’ll do best we can. They’ll bring him in a moment I know you hadn’t had a chance to hold him.”
As he said this four people enter the room and my baby, my baby.
The nurse walks around to the left of my bed and hands me this itty biddy blanket holding this little face.  I look at him and thought ‘His skin he’s so purple; his face… he looks just as she did. But he’s here. ” Hello Joseph! I’m your mommy. I’m grateful you’re here. “
Big hands; the nurse who handed my baby to me to hold is now on my right-side to take him away from me.
They rush my tiny boy out to the neonatal ambulance He’ll be at Long Island Jewish Hospital when I leave here on Monday.

The grim reaper is collecting,
Cigarette butts on your doorstep.
I bet you're wishing you could adjust the angle,
That you see your insides from.

I see all the frills,
That you can't live without.
I see all the signs of your demise,
In your little checkbook.

She thinks she's a killer.
Do the stigmas hit you hard,
When you smoke with her, baby?
She's bleeding alcohol when you crush her.

I am even lesser.
I dare you.
Step down to my level,
So that we're both trying ourselves.

How ungrateful of me,
To see another truth,
And hide it out of sight.
Unfaithful to myself.

Always gasping in my sleep,
"You, it's you."
I'm living on the other side,
While your riches die.

But this moment is golden.

he was 65, his wife was 66, had
Alzheimer's disease.

he had cancer of the
mouth.
there were
operations, radiation
treatments
which decayed the bones in his
jaw
which then had to be
wired.

daily he put his wife in
rubber diapers
like a
baby.

unable to drive in his
condition
he had to take a taxi to
the medical
center,
had difficulty speaking,
had to
write the directions
down.

on his last visit
they informed him
there would be another
operation: a bit more
left
cheek and a bit more
tongue.

when he returned
he changed his wife's
diapers
put on the tv
dinners, watched the
evening news
then went to the bedroom, got the
gun, put it to her
temple, fired.

she fell to the
left, he sat upon the
couch
put the gun into his
mouth, pulled the
trigger.

the shots didn't arouse
the neighbors.

later
the burning tv dinners
did.

somebody arrived, pushed
the door open, saw
it.

soon
the police arrived and
went through their
routine, found
some items:

a closed savings
account and
a checkbook with a
balance of
$1.14
suicide, they
deduced.

in three weeks
there were two
new tenants:
a computer engineer
named
Ross
and his wife
Anatana
who studied
ballet.

they looked like another
upwardly mobile
pair.

"Penny for your thoughts?"
You haven't the change.
Too many to count
And it's not worth the asking amount.
Faded shadows of whispering accounts
Surely your cash could be spent on something more wise
Something more tender
Something more kind.
Bills would stack with each word that came out
I'd put you in debt and without an allowance at all
If you keep asking that question, love.
How about a wishing well?
It takes the jingle of jangling coins
Without asking any questions.
Wishes are worth paying for.
Toss it in
Close your eyes
Tell no one
Or else the wish won't come to life.
Make it a surprise.
Unless you have a *** nickel
Fake currency is illegal
Pay me in jest just to tune out the rest.
You only asked to fill the silence.
And when you're gone and I suddenly see
My payment of my words to you
Was just a big rip off to me.
Take my secrets to the grave?
That's easy to do when you weren't listening anyways.
I know how that game is played
Giving to charity with the smallest amount paid.
Resolving it to be a decent trade.
You could have just looked behind the drawer
Between the couch cushions
In the cracks of the floor.
Your not so ******* poor
To pay the price of paying attention for a minute or more.
And those who have good till to pay
Emptying bank accounts just to hear what I have to say
I tell them all to put their checkbook away.
I'm fine
There's nothing on my mind today.
Here
Have some of my spare change
Let me put it in the jukebox in your brain.
Say whatever you need to say.
You'd tell me for free but you know I'll pay anyways.
Just a little something to get by
Here's a penny for your thoughts
You need it more than I.

you're like a little checkbook

i pull out blanks
and write
"three, four, five kisses"


signed
*michelle

Solving for the x. Step by step
Time is clocking theres no time for any misstep
Thought I had been getting ready for these arithmetics
But now I feel like in anesthetics. Maybe it aint in my genetics

These mathematics got me feelin dumb
Aint got energy to solve. Ive been feeding myself of crumbs, been livin in a slum
Aint easy to have the mind in the equations when everything else is off
Balancing these numbers dont go so peasy when all I want to do is tell the world to *******

Because who cares about this x when theres no money in the checkbook
I got more problems than the chapters in this textbook
Hoping all this senseless calculations will improve my situation
But waiting for the future is hard when Im living on a ration

Been working all my hours in exchange for some dollars
All of this cause my momma said the only ones that make it are the scholars
But the work I put in seems to be less than the money I receive.
And it all goes away to the bills. Got barely any left to live.

Divide the provisions and multiply the meals
Make sure that tonights dinner is a bit more than beans
Hope that my body has had enough proteins to keep all this going on
Because it seems my mind is about to shut down.  Dont know if I can find the answer you were hoping for.

There’s magic in my coffee cup,
and laundry folded and put up.
My shirts are hanging fully pressed
ready for me when I get dressed.
My checkbook’s balanced, the bills get paid,
the carpet’s vacuumed, the bed is made;
there’s food in the kitchen and the bathroom’s clean,
the trash is emptied and the plants are green.
And at the start of every day
with a magic kiss I’m on my way.
And as the day draws to a close
your magic touch can curl my toes.
In days filled with joy or strife
You are the magic in my life.
I know on this I can depend –
you'll make the magic happen.

© 2011 Michael S. Davis

in the palm of my hand
is a pen
that will write my future
into this paper
this paper
has strings that
will ultimately
bring me to my
future
and i am ******* scared
because
i'm 17
and you are asking me
about my future
so early
i don't even
understand how
to solve the minimum
and maximum of a parabola
how do you expect me to choose
what i want to take
when i don't even know
how to balance a checkbook
or how to work in the real world
how do you help me process rejection
how will you help me choose my
plan b
if my plan a fails

- a.l.

I was nineteen, almost twenty
back then. In the fifties.
The small after war mill town
in Lancashire
held dark hope for the future.
Smoke stacks and coal stained
buildings left from the remnants
of the industrial revolution.

Now all I felt in my heart was anger.
No jobs poor wages if you could get one.
But I had my looks and burning passion
to get somewhere in this ****** World.

My dad got me a job in the offices
At the coal mine where he was a miner.
it was on the
bottom rung of the ladder
I hated it, but it was a job.
That's where I met her, my boss.
The eldest daughter of the mine owner.

She was pretty and spoiled.
Well educated
at rich daddy's expense I guessed.
But used to her own way.
Nepotism was rife in those days.
She was thirty four but she kept
looking at me almost inspecting me.
Like her next toy I thought

But I was nineteen.  
I had never been with a woman
And she was well built and pretty.
She spoke to me gently and respectfully.
Like a teacher does to a pupil.

And as I listened all I could notice
Were her beautiful breast
and the impressive cleavage
In her blouse.

Every morning is he smiled at me
and wished me  good day.
What she did not know she had starred
In my ******  dream last night and in it
Her expensive clothes lay carelessly
On the  floor next to the bed,
That we were sharing.

She spent time with me
and taught.me a lot
about the business.
Her family owned half the town.

I had to work the weekend
the auditors were coming in
on monday morning early.
At seven o'clock on Saturday evening
we finished our preparations.

Thank you so much she said softly.
You must be famished I am.
She took me into town
in her MG sports car.
We ate at nice pub I had
three glasses of red wine.
I liked it I had never drank wine before.

She said do you have a girl.
I blushed no miss.
Why not, you are very nice looking.
Have you not found one lady
that you would like to ask out.

Yes miss I.mumbled there's one.
She looked at me I thought
I saw a tiny bit of jealousy.
But it could be the wine.
Who is she?
tell me about her it was half an order.

I called upon the glow
of my new found wine friend and said.
She's beautiful miss.
Very very stylish.
Lovely figure
and perfect gray eyes.
I don't think I have ever seen
a woman as lovely as her.

She sounds lovely she said.
But I noticed she was a bit miffed.
Why don't you ask her out.?
Because I don't think
she would accept miss.
Look she said out of the office
You may call me Elisabeth all right.
I said yes miss….er... Elizabeth.
Who is this lady you talk of anyway?

It's …..its you miss.
She went silent.
Looking at me intently.
Have I lost my job miss I asked.
No you haven't its alright.
I am much older than you.
It would not be appropriate.

Men go with ladies
much younger than they are miss.
Yes I know they do.

She took me back to the small
flat she kept in the city.
For nights that
she may be out on the town.
It was cosy and comfortable.
She poured more wine.

Why have you never married? I asked.
She smiled.
Because all those
that asked I didn't love,
all those I loved did not ask
she quipped.

I took my jacket off
it was warm with the wine.
And  the closeness to her.
My small pocket novel sided girlie
magazine fell out of the inside pocket.
I grabbed it quickly.

but she saw it.
Let me see it she said.
I passed it to her blushing.
She looked at the pictures
of the large breasted naked ladies.
They are lovely she said.

They are not as lovely as you are miss.
Have you ever been with a lady.
She asked.
I blushed no not yet,.
She said its time you did.

Taking my hand
she led me to her bedroom.
I am not sure what to do I whispered.
Hush hush now come to me,
She took me slowly and patiently.

I felt my childhood leave my body
Irrevocably rushing into her as my
manhood appeared in its place.

I slept in her arms and
when  I woke in the night.
she took me again
and held my head
onto her beautiful breast
as I slept like a child.

After that she took me to her place
after work almost every day,
She took me to her bed
and we made love.

After  few months I came into work
she called me into her office.
She looked troubled.
I thought I was getting fired.

But she said I'm pregnant.
In those days abortions
were illegal and dangerous.
And out of  wedlock babies poured
shame on lady and family.

She said I want this baby.
I told my mother
She broke it to daddy.
He's furious he wants to see you
in his office now.

I nearly collapsed
with fear and. confusion.
But I made my way to the
managing director's office.
He was a big man with a
moustache and silver hair.
Noted for his temper.

He said I make no bones about it.
You are not suitable
to a member of my family.
I had my lawyer draw up an agreement.
and termination package.

He brought out his checkbook.
He wrote a cheque payable to me
for thirty thousand pounds.
An enormous sum in those days.
Move on leave town
and never bother Elisabeth again.
He said strictly.

I do not know where
I got the courage from.
I looked at the cheque.
And thought of my
hundred and five pounds net worth.
And I tore it half.

Sir, You can fire me,
blacklist my name
in the north of England .
Make my life a living hell.
you have this power I know.
.
But I shall not leave Elisabeth
unless she tells me to go.
And even then
I do not want your money.

He stopped silently.
He always got his way,
No one ever talked back at him.
But.
There was something about this boy
that reminded him of himself so long ago
when he had not two penny's
to rub together.
and truth be known,
he married his wife Maud
because she was pregnant.

Very well
we will call my errant daughter.
and she can tell you to go herself.

Elizabeth came in the room
Her pretty eyes.
Red from crying.
Tell him to go daughter
he commanded.

I offered him thirty
thousand pounds to go away.
But he tore up the cheque.
He wants to hear you
to tell him to leave.
And he will leave
without a penny.

She looked up into my face
She saw the love
in my eyes that I had for her.

Do you want me she asked.
I answered
yes I do

Do you want this baby
she asked firmly
Yes I do.

Do you want to marry me
she asked?
Yes I do .

Old Abel her father knew defeat
when it was inevitable.
Alright against my blessing
you get married next week in white.
No bride of my family
Will go to altar great with child.

Ten years later

Abel had retired
And became the doting grandfather
To  our four children.
After the twins were born
then a year later his granddaughter
a year later his grandson.
he realised that his daughter
was the happiest women
in the north.of England.

.And his son in law
was  good husband and father.

I ran the mine
and expanded his interest
into electronics manufacturing.

We sit together on the river bank
sometimes Elizabeth and me.
I say l love you honey.
You are still the most beautiful woman
i have ever been with.

She laughs
i am the only woman
you have been with
I corrupted you as a youth.

.I am so happy you never
asked me to leave
that day in his office.
She smiled.
No,
I proposed to you instead,my  love.

Why did you not accept the huge sum
of money he offered and run.

Because
Of something you once said
about not being married
What's that then she questioned
All the ones you loved
did not ask you.
And
You were the one I loved
and you did ask me

If you are not dead
you are far from me.
If you are not dead
you are knocking on
some other sucker’s
door. Perhaps he is
in debt and in love,
cursed in similar
afflictions. Perhaps he is
up to the eyes in hedge funds
and stock investments,
his symmetric face smiling
down his checkbook at you,
attracting you in ways
mine never could.

If you are not dead
than perhaps you
are happy.
If you are not dead
than perhaps
you are sad. I certainly
will never know.
Do wedding bells ring already?
Do the long nights of love
break bones in bitter morning?

For a long time this imagination
proved worse than any reality
could have possibly been;
I lay in fevered dreams,
praying for answers,
only hoping to find
where love had been lain to rest.
Now, it is just nice to be rid
of the whole deal.

The universe makes
a lot more sense
without you.

Crazy Horse Waits For Neil Young

Working their way through the Harvard Classics
half-moon reading glasses perched precariously
on their noses, dozing off from time to time
myoclonic twitches jolting hands and feet
that pine to plug in and mark time, dreaming

of that bait shop in the Maldives with a cooler
full of Bud where a man could do some combing
on the beach and wait for the sea to rise
or the pending call that sends them up the attic
stairs on a frantic search for their carry on

luggage and the worn out Converse and that  
lucky tee shirt from Rust Never Sleeps.  Never
a doubt, not one; well maybe a few but
the changes and chords will come wandering back
and the chorus to ******’ Up practically

sings itself, but in the meantime the checkbook
needs attention and a grandson’s home from Helmand
and isn’t the Lipitor running low?  
Two chapters left in Moby ****, they eye the
phone convinced again tonight’s the night.

No good news today to take away the gloom I watched
My neighbor's house burn down leaving only fumes
But everybody have to carry their own troubled cross and keep
On living daily no matter what has been lost
Fight on still despite the pain if I lose today tomorrow I'll surely gain
No good news today for anyone to hear so keep on marching past each doubt and fear no good news to help your peace of mind
Debts and mortgage will hurt your checkbook every time the tv
Is turned on and listen for some good news and go to sleep depressed
And hurting from the blues no good news to share
Bad news travels fast wish I could hear some good news other
Than somebody busted for selling a ton of grass

Failing was Never considered in Her Checkbook
She was the Ultimate warrior
She was Left Undefeated
She was and still remains a Hidden
Masterpiece.

i’ve been sick a lot this year.  like, little kid sick.  with the kind of cough that only a sick little kid would have.  

and it’s 2016 and i’m congested in my infested sad grad bachelorette pad.  and if i’ve taught myself anything, it’s how to take care of myself.  if that’s what too much netflix and not enough water means then i’m a ******* doctor.  

my hair is unwashed and my face is about twelve difference colors.  and i conclude that yes, i am in fact too gross for groceries.  

so today i don’t think i have any tools to collect the courage to talk to the cute boy at the deli even though i’m vegetarian so perhaps it’s not meant to be.

and it’s hot in here.  the taste in my mouth is familiar, and i close my eyes trying to place it.  through the ringing in my ears at the bathroom sink, i can hear 1996 and you’re there on the phone

and i’m on the couch and you’re not checking on me but you’re balancing your checkbook.  tom brokaw on nbc is telling me everything that’s wrong with the world but i hear you laughing and that tells me everything is right.  

and the sourness in my stomach makes me think of the suspense of a summer storm.  and before tom holden on wkbn turns it over to weather, you tell me that it’s going to rain because the leaves are turning over.  and you turned off the tv and you turned on the radio and you lit a cigarette and even though you were out of your suit and in your gym shorts, you looked like the most learned man in the world.

and i open my eyes and i look in the mirror and there you are, staring back at me.  it’s even more glaring when i’m tired.  you cant make eye contact with me in person anymore but you can't beat the mirror.  at least with the magic of a mascara wand i can see the parts of you i want to see.

my stomach turns a little more at the thought of how many times the world has turned since 1996.

whenever it rains in the summer.  or i find a picture of you laughing.  or chicago comes on the radio, i forget everything you’ve ever done.  and you’re the person i want to be again.

I scored thirty two points playing basketball while you were drunk ! I'm sure your only infatuation was more 120 proof poison !  I was merely a teenage punk ! Money spent on food , clothing , medicine plus other useless junk when alcohol was the Golden Bull , a tonic to obliterate the duties of a father , something you never could get enough of , a liquid that took precedence over every other item in your view of the world ! You bled the checkbook dry every week , slaughtered the spirit of your children over something to drink ! Rocking in your chair , grandkids treating you like a God , you ran your own children into the ground ! Alcohol is a weakness , not a sickness , who could reach for a wolf then wonder why they've been bitten ?

Memories
Blank like an unwritten checkbook
Try to recall
Days unspent

One hot and sultry summer night,
While the trees outside stood dark and still,
I tried to get my checkbook right,
At the desk beside my window sill.

One thing moved in the heat and damp,
The whispering of a hundred moths,
Trapped around the backyard lamp.
In pity, I went and turned it off.

They flew away and left me there,
Wishing that something, likewise, might
Free me from the musty air
That gathered around my dim desk light.

My old brass wind-harp, long un-tongued,
Gave forth a single, clarion chime,
From where it had, untroubled, hung.
A neighbor’s porch gave answering rhyme.

I turned to see the heat-lights leap
Between the towering thunderheads,
Which had gathered in the upper deep,
While I nodded, working, half asleep.

love   time   will   man   yeah   gonna   life   heart   feel   night   day   boy   eyes   find   mine   things   thing   place   long   town   hope   sky   times   hard   remember   good   kiss   kind   baby   knew   leave   ooh   bell   moon   true   wanted   cry   hearts   burn   face   told   mind   mississippi   inside   felt   stay   change   live   light   keep   pay   wonder   muddy   left   hear   call   drummers   going   sun   young   turn   loving   hold   dream   move   better   free   dark   beautiful   matter   tears   loved   three   moment   soul   help   truth   lie   circle   thrice   thought   song   wait   leaves   door   learn   birthday   talk   phone   wind   blood   christmas   head   hand   ride   high   lines   cold   bluez   feeling   turned   fear   poem   lies   longer   children   word   skin   blue   lights   today   heard   walk   fool   break   house   gotta   clean   understand   game   people   woman   picked   eye   hell   beneath   side   reason   jill   days   friend   tree   angel   tonight   dancing   sure   clear   ways   era   dreams   bobby   faith   stand   friends   songs   tired   payday   men   sing   honey   till   coming   held   kindness   year   blind   guess   thoughts   slack   play   pain   forever   set   rings   speak   breath   empty   middle   ocean   lost   cooler   curious   drink   story   burning   deep   chance   forget   rhythm   worth   guy   street   learned   full   strong   search   honor   feelings   lose   memory   write   wrong   silence   choose   equality   surely   care   feet   open   looked   bring   lessons   black   watch   bad   close   best   poet   catch   air   lonely   mosaic   struck   save   read   bail   soft   fast   start   stars   sleep   hate   finally   fall   die   recall   ten   water   met   misery   sheila   novia   brought   bite   hurt   player   work   nina   praise   lay   style   lifeline   beach   blues   living   blown   wonderful   white   sad   room   earth   hit   bare   state   won   attention   pity   laugh   second   child   grip   running   dust   early   glue   thinking   crying   hair   lips   dear   shine   drumming   seeds   single   shines   land   lot   dance   rod   follow   godless   send   heaven   brother   sand   cat   shining   darkness   hash   answers   sorceress   kids   changed   experience   golden   slivers   takes   dude   glad   charity   thin   sense   sit   swear   blocker   mayor   writing   thieves   happened   seeking   silver   shadows   drop   celebrating   afraid   surprise   shrew   thine   neglect   mad   hombre   valentine   mist   checked   john   season   wide   bed   flame   lover   bet   slay   winter   gentle   seek   sat   chest   harpee   paid   charm   stronger   drive   walking   corned   orleans   busy   cried   hopeful   luka   beam   arm   nature   knowing   sorrow   lotion   cut   drum   una   asked   sweet   caring   ****   checkbook   shrewd   rubs   voice   sounding   grand   reminder   ball   *****   strength   spend   consciousness   flesh   rest   vampire   touch   speed   prey   death   bit   burns   everytime   wraith   hose   ache   fairy   beef   universe   meaning   gnashing   waits   lake   cherished   slowly   drains   vitality   hopes   ear   cruel   stories   emotional   haunt   depth   shame   holding   star   games   fell   faster   moonlight   fresh   battle   evermore   smile   wished   risk   cool   crops   tenderness   settle   round   quicker   regret   pass   hide   saved   emotions   version   separation   shift   settled   named   illumination   standing   working   revelation   downfall   brings   refrain   stick   broke   shoot   knocked   crazy   pieces   ceremony   stayed   lamp   answer   charging   tale   shore   shade   enter   feed   midnight   paper   shake   perfect   police   fit   hot   bout   coffee   return   thee   walls   hands   foot   crock   tear   stopped   luck   heavy   opened   wondered   washed   someplace   paradise   drifting   cars   struggle   priorities   invitation   waited   rang   render   number   ring   boulevard   hangs   needed   wizzing   selling   passed   loves   lullaby   trending

Wrapped up warm and seeping with temper
Lies your Christmas gift
Under the mistletoe.
As your mind pulses with confusion,
You trace your receipts
Wondering why coal fills your ripped stockings.
Your checkbook goes out to supplying yourself with makeup
Conceal, repent, repeat.
Bruises envelop the surface of your porcelain skin
And wounded heart of a veteran.
The new year brings hope and courage,
You pray to end the repetition.
Quit tripping and falling
Believing you’re just a clumsy house wife.