Mystery

Her gazing eyes and my choir of echoes. My voice floats the hollowed hallways, always. Yet, I still wont stop till its heard solidly in the ear. Salacious and obliterated from what I once was, firm and real. I never sleep, awake at night looking for your eyes, removed away. I hear you speak. And then I run.

The stairs that you walk, erect and tall, I watch you. I want to follow but I’m not allowed to go up there, remember? Always held in the hallway. Often, you feel my hand on your shoulder but you just adjust your blouse and don’t think twice when you really should. You touch your thighs. I’m transfixed, caught, and time doesn’t exist.

The sun has faded. I’m the mist in the hallway, the shadow you seldom see. I’m the choir that reminds you of me. Downstairs, your eyes move and adjust to the light and you can’t see me anymore. Turn on the bright lights. Sublimated from the hall. I have eternity and nothing at all.

Streetlight

Howling, howling, through the trees and into the street. The moon was full. It had to be children. Howling and screaming, through the trees and into the street. It had to be the couple downstairs. Howling and crying through the trees and into the street but closer to my window. This had to be a joke. What was that I saw crawling through the dark street that night last year?  I saw its hairy body crawl into the forest. Just it’s hind legs, nothing else. I thought I was crazy. It was real and now it was crying across the street. And it was not alone.

Zeus.

Standing, trapped in a corner and tremendously high above the crashing waves. They’re colliding with thick brown towers of granite that have snapped like branches. They’ve fallen into the water from the sky. The sky is raining immense columns of stone. I can feel them crack as they hit the round boulders that scatter among the shallow water and crashing waves. I can’t jump from here.

How did he get here? He’s angry again for what I’ve done but I can’t remember why. Did I cross him? Did I take from him? I still can’t recall. He pointed his gun in my face. I’m staring down the barrel and I can see the tip of the bullet resting. It has a silver point and that’s all I can recollect. I grab my musket and point it at him. We’re both on a ledge now, trapped in a corner. I hope, I pray, that my gun is loaded. He shouts again and communicates to me that he can see the inside my gun bullets. No matter, I know they are there. Because, I can feel them resting inside.

I begin to cry. I’m scared beyond reason. I should be scared but this is not why I cry. It’s for something else I can’t explain. I call out to my father. I look up at the sky and look for him in the clouds. I scream again for my father and still he does not answer. I shout once more to the sky for my father but he is quiet. He will not answer me. He doesn’t help me when I need him. I let go and fall into the water and crushed granite. Zeus.

My Desko

Poetic Fragments of objects within reach.

Keyboard ticking away at the my recognition

sitting Sharpie so pink and kinked to my position.

Thick Vaseline to heal my lips

Red fettuccine cords of the ear buds tips.

Thin black pencil I'm ready to throw

the bonsai tree filled is something to show.

I Remember sits on the glass

book to be read because its past.

Broken iPhone falls to the floor

Piece of junk from that damn store.

I'm done with this writing

scratch the beard I'm done fighting.

Super Sound of the 70's

My uncle crashed his metallic blue Corvette into a TV while All in the Family was on.

The chrome bumper wrapped itself around the rotten brown husk of the set.

We had to grip a thick crowbar and peel the metal backward. Carefully, we poured hot wax into the TV to keep slivers of glass from penetrating our thin skin.

We all combined our complete strength to remove my uncle’s flimsy body from the Corvette. We tugged, and tugged his red bellbottoms from the bucket seat. We could not unclip him from his fragile station. With a twist a tiny person touched the radio. What a Fool Believes blasted form the fragile side speakers twisting with the flames and glass. The Doobie Brothers poured all over the ground and stained my last M.A.S.H t-shirt.

Fire Bad!

            I worked at a hospital. I enjoyed staying to myself and leaving others alone. Most people knew that except one guy. He was tall, maybe 6’3. He was big, maybe 250. To me, he resembled an ogre or Frankenstein’s monster. Not kind on the eyes, this man.  He walked with a slumped posture. His eyes were blue that sat in deep eye sockets. His face seemed calm but you could sense his anxiety through his eyes. Nevertheless, it was his mind that bothered me. You could never tell if he was happy or sad. He must’ve been bipolar.

If you are transferring a patient you have to be calm with them. I witnessed him push people in wheelchairs or beds at incredible speeds. I saw him slam a bed into wall with patient in it! Carelessness at work is not a good quality I’d say. But it was his demeanor that was more off putting. Once, I got trapped in an elevator with him. Granted, it was only going two floors up but I was nervous being in there with the wretch. “Felipe, what time did you wake up today,” he  asked my cryptically. That was the only thing he said to me in there. I ran out of the elevator as soon as I could.

Another day I walked into our department office and I saw him with his shirt off. He had  blood pouring down his back. I stopped in my tracks when I saw this horrible sight. He looked at me harshly and then chased me out of the room. Later, I had heard that he shaved his back at work for some mysterious reason. Yet, there were days when he was so peaceful. He would greet me with enthusiasm and ask how I was doing. But later he’d follow that up by telling me what I should eat for lunch. I’m glad I don’t work with him anymore. Goodbye, Frankenstein.

The Boxing Kid

I don’t know this kid personally. Actually, I was more of an observer to this kid’s actions. Still, I hadn’t seen anything like this happen in my entire life. I was taking a table tennis class and we were in our tournament stage at that point. So the last reaming students were playing a few matches before class ended. Just then we could hear music emanating from the hallway. We all stopped and looked around as the heavy guitar riff from Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger came closer to our classroom.

It looked as if a heavy weight fight was about to take place. This other student had an entourage surrounding him. There was one person who had raised a boom box above his head blasting this kid’s theme song. This kid was in the center of his entourage with a boxing robe on. They moved as a unit and the kid in the center was shadow boxing fiercely.

One of the members of his group slowly removed the robe fro the boxing kid. The kid looked directly at me and shouted, “Are you the best in this class?” I looked at him sideways and directed him to the opponent that would give him the satisfaction he desired. So class stopped and we all watched the table tennis match. The boxing kid got his ass handed to him. Still, “A” for effort.

Ah, Jason.

In 2003, I was a security guard. I didn’t care for the job but I needed to pay my rent. One day, they hired this new guy, Jason. So, one day this giant oaf walks into the guardhouse ready to work. He was young so at least that was good for me (older people are cranky.) He was bizarre. He bragged too much and had outlandish claims. So, I stayed very far away from this character but he always seemed to find me. He always wanted to talk about anything and I found his stories to be too eccentric.

He stated that he had found a meteorite in his back yard after it had almost him in the head after falling from space. There was also a story of him hunting for deer but somehow he managed to kill a squirrel instead that was running up a try. He said that he had stabbed it with a knife while sitting on the ground! I don’t know if that’s even possible. I guess.

This guy really bothered me the first few months of working together. He seemed a clown destined for stupidity and lies for the rest of his days. But one day, my feelings changed for this man. I look back at my time with this man and I say with the utmost honesty and conviction: Jason is a genius! Comedy gold! As my other friend stated, “He is the shogun of sweet. The clown prince.” Yet, it is also true that he is extremely intelligent and perceptive beyond his years.

This is how that change came to pass. One day, as I sat reading a book on top of a hill, I watched him drive the security van around a building. He was down bellow driving in circles knowing full well that I was watching. He employed the use of the security van’s PA system to blast a ringtone of a chicken screaming “Bwok, bwok, bwok.” I saw this happen, people. I was there.

At first I thought it stupid. But after 20 or so minutes of doing this I saw his brilliance. From that moment on he kind of won me over. I’d like to say that I calmed him down a bit and this helped the two of us to remain friends. This man, this mastermind of silliness is a true testament to what is good in this world. Yes, he stole a 25-pound turkey and fed it to his family for Thanksgiving but yet has the compassion to care for his friends and family with the utmost sensitivity. I’m proud to say I have shared an enduring friendship with Jason. We are still friends to this day.

True Grit

Working as a janitor at the middle school has its rewards. Here’s one for ya. One day I was sweeping up the hallway and I see this piece of paper all folded up on the ground. I pick it up and unfold it and see that it’s a note. The handwriting was bad so I couldn’t make out every word but man it was a good one that I found! It was a godsend!

This kid tells his buddy, Chris, that he might have seen the “Phantom Pooper.” Now, this note could help me break the case of the “Phantom Pooper.” See, there’s a boy who goes into the bathroom and takes a shit in the urinal. But nobody knows who this kid is. Nobody ever sees him and I take it this kid isn’t braggin’ about what he’s doing to nobody. I mean it has to be a boy. How could a girl do it? If it was a girl, why not just go in the girl’s bathroom?

So, this “Pooper” really pisses me off cause guess who has to remove the turd? Yeah, me! Anyway, the bit that was important in the note was that the kid saw a guy walk out of the bathroom was wearing a skin-tight shirt that said “King Diamond” after there was a turd in the urinal. I think I might know who that is. It’s that fat senior burnout Jeff Hageman. That kid came to school with a hole in his shirt the other day that was right over his nipple. We all saw how pink that kid’s nipple was that day.

I hear that kid Jeff makes the freshman walk across the football field with a pickle in their ass. The worst part is that if the pickle comes out, then you have to bite the ass end of the pickle. I saw this happen one day. But I don’t remember if Hageman was there. Anyway, it is some sort of thing that seniors do to freshmen that’s goes way back to when I was a kid. I gotta keep my eyes peeled now.

Royale With Cheese

I remember I used to be good dancer. I mean, I was special. I could do things with my lower-body that would cause a person to really stop and take notice. Well, when I was young I could do such things. Now, c'mon! I'd be lucky if I could to the "Texas Fox-Hop" with my bad hips.

I remember on Saturdays I would get up very early in the morning and go buy cheap paint from a store and then go sell it the store I was working at for a dollar more. Actually, my boss made me do that.

I remember I'd stop and get two slices of pizza and eat them at the same time. I was very skinny back then and I could do things like that and not gain weight. Now, I eat a cookie and I have an extra chin.

I remember I used to be in the "T-Birds."

I remember going to France. I went into a McDonald's over there. Do you know what they call a quarter-pounder with cheese over there? Well, I won't bore you with that story.

I remember I used to have a lot of hair. Now, I have a room in my house dedicated to all of my hairpieces. These pieces come from all over the world. I have one from the far reaches of Tasmania!  Sometimes, I like to go in there and talk to the pieces. (Calling them "wigs" is disrespectful.) Yes, it's true! Doing that creates a connection between the hair and myself. Not in the literal sense! We become one, a unit, a person again.

I remember walking out the back door of my house looking at my Lear Jet!

Ye' Ol' Days

The well air-conditioned break room of the Hopeville Wal-Mart is silent. A couple of employees sit quietly fingering through back issues of Forbes Magazine left over from last month. Signs cover parts of the wall that assert, “Clean up after yourself, your mother doesn’t work here.” So the tables are indeed kept clean from any stale food or debris. The two poster-boards are filled with Wal-Mart propaganda of working hard, having a great attitude, and keeping your hands clean.

Teamwork is also a big issue with the “yes” men at the corporate offices as well as the minimization of theft from employees and outsiders. There’s one manager sipping his coffee and reading the postings and nodding his head seemingly in agreement. A custodian comes around and begins to sweep a floor so clean one would wonder why he’d do it again. The floors are polished to a reflective sheen with only a few small scrapes from the bottoms of the silver chairs.

The manager on break whistles to the janitor and points to the garbage can reminding him that he needs its contents depleted. The janitor tips his hat back at him and proceeds with his new found assignment. The manager turns back around and takes a peek into the employee locker room. The lockers are perfectly blue with Wal-Mart decals at the top of them. Four of those lockers have gold colored name plates with the names of the mangers that run the store. The manager seems satisfied with the cleanliness of the locker area and simply nods his head again. He then puts his used coffee cup in the garbage can and proceeds to head back out to the sales floor.

On the way out he takes a look at the employee recognition board and looks at the pictures of babies, newlyweds, pets, and himself from his vacation to Cancun, Mexico. He looks a little closer at the picture from that day at the beach and notices that some rascal has put a tiny Hitler mustache on him. He licks his fingertip and rubs off the small piece of graffiti. He gazes upon his reflection and notices his tie is misaligned. He sways his head in dissatisfaction to his gaffe. He straightens his silver tie against his black shirt and then strolls out of the break room and back on duty.