 |  |  | |
| james landwehr |  | 1. Borrowed Time Memories crash back more frequently Reminding him how long he's lived Instead of how short it seems Is it because his end is near? Maybe a physiological phenomena? Or a shoulder tap from God? Analog crap from the seventies He'd lived through an age ago Returns in high definition Music brings back the eighties A simpler, seemingly happier era When in reality, he's happier now Perhaps these acid-free flashbacks Are God's unpleasant reminders That tomorrow's not a slam dunk 2. Doctor Recommended What if they discovered that the stifling of self-expression caused the early onset of disease? That if everyone who ever had a song in their heart, but did not dance, set the stage for an aneurysm at forty-four? Those who wanted to sing at the top of their lungs in the library but didn't, generated cancerous cells? Or if not hugging your father, or not crying for fear of ridicule, jump started their own arthritis? What if we could live to be 140 if we took that guitar lesson, got that tattoo, or grew those dreads we'd always meant to? Maybe if we built more art galleries, concert halls and bookstores, taught more viola, art history and rumba, we might do with fewer hospitals and nursing homes. 3. Brautigan's Cubicle If Richard Brautigan had done all of his writing from inside fabric-covered cubicle walls, how different it might have been. In Watermelon Sugar might have read like a battery charger user manual, or the back of a ketchup bottle. Trout Fishing in America like a home remedy for rickets, or the possible side effects for Cialis. Willard and His Bowling Trophies might have been sketched out on Post-It Notes and accidently tossed away by the cleaning staff. Revenge of the Lawn may have been about fertilizer application, and its effect on water quality. A Confederate General from Big Sur might have died in a hard drive crash and never hit the press. Brautigan might have contracted carpal tunnel at the age of forty four and switched careers to become a dentist. He might never have written past the 4:30 quitting time or drank port wine on the job, and his life not his death would have been the real tragedy. 4. House Homicide Born in 1907 to a family of others A generation away It was nothin' special to anyone but they Who made the beds And slept in them Wood, brick and mortar are all it was Hulking like a blue collar mansion It was nothin' special to anyone but those Who swept the floors And walked on them Kitchen warmed by electric stove One bath to serve all seven It was nothin' special to anyone but us Who painted the walls And lived between them New tenants brought boxes of neglect and blight Slumming the mansion to size It was nothin' special to anyone, especially them Who killed the house And moved along 5. Four Walled Box They're gone now All three, gone Silence echoes Stillness suffocates Solitude stains Loneliness sets in like cancer Small at first, a lump The memory of misplaced socks, appointments, laughter Then ravaging, it eats away. The hugs Calls to dinner The rattle and hum Electronic chemo fails So alone in this Four Walled Box Only one miracle cure They return | |
| | | |