6.04.06, [Guest Blog, by David] "One Dirty & One Straight," Poem

[Good Sunday: David's sent in a post to be guest blogged and today is the day, could be seen as poem or travelogue or both and more, all there and unedited except one point five stanzas at the end where the narrative slightly trails. It holds together well nonetheless. It's great to see into this experience from the eyes of some perceptive others. And too, thanks to David for not having any drop lines or indents in what follows! (I apparently need to work on my HTML skills to be able to effectively indent. Who knew?) -Mr. J., and the title was picked out by the editor, second choice was "What Silence Suffices"--very nice, too, more serious tone though...]


"One Dirty & One Straight"

What silence suffices to enclose
or all that other messy self expression

Here at the intersection of Broadway and John
d waits for mr. j

All that traffic passes
(all that traffic passes includes me this time)

From somewhere somewhere bound
earnestly nudging the green go-ahead

When down the block
or up it

comes mr. j, the distinctive stride,
carriage, making his way

closer, he is as he ever was
thinner than I remember

who could ever watcha gonna

very focused, this young man
with his bit of beard, burns, earring

we walk away a block to foregather
over cups of coffee one palmiér

talked about many
imaginable and unimaginable things

occasional bouts of “chemo-brain” he laughed wry
as for a moment a book title or passage stayed away

right there, nothing changed, everything changes
changing change stays the same

so utterly random
“and unfair?” I ask

“No, because what does that make ‘fair’?”

Administrative bureaucratic practices are not

Cite that knowing attitude!
he’s say Why
not, why not why not why not
why not why not why not why
not why not why not why not
why not. Not why. Why not.

O the dim closeness
of the bar, the cheery
ineptitude of its tender
who with a muttered oath
spills with apologies the glass, it was
a glass of water which broke
as we leaped up (not us!) from
seats, seats at the bar, we
were seated at the bar with
a cheery pair of martinis,
one dirty & one straight

What do we talk about discuss what
the usual things the rain the car
caught in traffic the likelihood
of parking now at this hour how
the cats Yes Crantz and Icarus
one slightly distant there
one here on the floor urging
a pat touch word Tell us
Crantz, tell us how it was
at your doctor’s office this day

We had arrived from the rain
to a joyous greeting from someone’s pug named
Lucy and the phone rings it’s
a “call lost” there in the shelter
of the shelter.

Look, I might have said What what
and mr. j he say
Well, the
whole things be
what I what,
not what I meant but listen soon I will reveal
the recommendation,
what the counselor said

But here in the street now
runs an alley behind brick buildings
the rain not “heavy” in any sense
but falling steadily.

. . . [TBC?]


Franky Scale: I dare say 8, now that I'm two days into the glorious week of no chemo drugs at all; knock on wood — not that kind (boy this could get confusing; and too of course I've already received numerous emails about the hypothetical wood scale since that post, it's clear where the real interests lie...) — but do that or something else superstitious since my motility, as we like to say, is not ideal. The rest of my system seems to functioning fairly well. So 8 in the a.m., who knows where I'll find myself in the late p.m.?