nedful things

After all the illusions
of day(-light that illuminates
nothing), Uneasily supine
Where cornered shadows
masquerade
Apparitions of the (un)finished
busi ness of the day.
Then the heart wars with
a mind set on conquest,
and answers its assaults
with hope until hope fails.
Their battle scripted
as both succumb
to the timelessness
and the telling of tales.

But here lies no Juliet,
no poison will be drunk tonight.
The moon is not envious,
for she knows she owns the night.
Here no swan, with arms enfolded
in elegant expiration upon a stage,
just Rapunzel with hair let down
awaiting who may pass her way.

Amy leaned forward and her hand brushed her just-poured and steaming cup of coffee, nearly spilling it all out on the table. A burning splash landed on the back of her hand and a few drops splattered on the letter it held.  Amy had always been a klutz.  That is just how it was and there was no getting around it.  She couldn't get around much of anything without tripping or weaving or falling down. She had never had a sense of balance, but years of practice had given her a unique style.

There is an art to being a public spectacle. Naturally and painfully shy as a child, she shuddered at the very idea of drawing attention to herself in any way, to the point of never being brave enough to raise her hand to ask the teacher if she could go to the bathroom.  She simply sat in agony for hours, until the bell rang and they had a break or lunch or the end of the day.  She resisted anyone knowing she was there, and retreated into the world inside her head.   But one day she realized that the stubborn refusal of her limbs to accede to her demands was growing worse as years went on, causing more and more instability.

Once she went face down in the frozen food aisle at the supermarket.  She regularly leaned over to grab a door handle and lost her balance falling headlong into the door.  She soon realized that people viewing her antics didn't laugh at her as she had always feared they would.  It was much worse than that.  They pitied her. Pity was just too bitter, and she refused to drink from its cup.

Going into a convenience store, her foot did not clear the threshold.  She stumbled and fell forward, propelled by gravity and no amount of quick thinking could save her.  An arm flying out to catch herself, instead caught the Hostess Twinkie display and took it down with her.  She faced the crowd of shoppers, standing, mouths agape and  frozen in a corporate "O" as they tried to process the correct response. Was it to laugh at the very amusing scene? Or would that be unfeeling, what if she were hurt?  Amy felt the great responsibility of easing their social tension, to arise amidst the massacre of spongy snack cakes and to blithely brush off her embarrassment with a brightly spoken "and my mother wasted all that money on ballet lessons".  And with that, she had created herself anew.

Or so she thought.  Because tonight, sipping a mug of coffee that had long gone cold and reading his letter over and over, she found she kept stumbling and tripping over the words.  She had fallen and this time no quick quip or bright remark was going to rescue her.  She struggled, but once again, she had lost her balance.

The evening settles around me
in layers of the day, heaped
one upon another. Thoughts
that tired of meandering in
search of a conclusion lay like

a stack of unread newspapers.
The facts and only the facts,
largely ignored in favor of
inciting headlines, the comics
and advice to the lovelorn.

And the night sits down in
libraries where I keep the
collected volumes of the ways
you never (quite) say yes
and never (quite) rule out no

pages smoothly lined with
seasoned words, practiced
and polished to seem new
(yet at the edges are worn)
I turn them one over another

through dawn impending.
Its urgent new-born breeze,
razor-edges the clouds
as they race across the sky
(the face of a day in doubt).

It slides along the tapering limbs
to veined hands that wave
and dance, sillouettes
of inside-out memories.
A cool fingertip traces and

plays upon my neck, it
caresses, and draws me in.
Then swirling up to the
splitting sky, it abandons me
to my chosen deception.

Amy pulled the car into the drive-thru line which at this time of morning extended out to the street. She had made sure to leave early and the traffic was light, she would have time. As long as she got there by 8:00 she would find parking and court didn't open until 8:30.  She hadn't taken time for breakfast, she was afraid to have anything on her stomach this morning.  Besides, it was full already; jumping and growling at her, a thousand little worries marching through it.  

Her intestinal revolt notwithstanding, Amy decided that a cup of coffee was necessary to steel her for the morning ahead. The sky was full of indecision; clouded, but lightening up here and there, never threatening rain but never promising sunshine. She glanced at the paper in her hand, not really reading it.  The director of the daycare  had handed it to her with apologies when she dropped her son off this morning and told her what it said.  The facility was closing as of Friday and she would need to make other arrangements for her son.  Amy placed the letter face down on the front seat of the car.  There was enough to think about today.  "This little stress with just have to wait its turn", she thought.

Ahead of her in the long line sat an ancient pick-up truck. It may have once been yellow but now had a myriad of colors, an unmatching red door, white primer over patches of "Bondo" and a bumper that seemed to consist mostly of rust.  Every time the line moved forward, the driver had to start the engine which rumbled and shook the truck so that she thought it might just wiggle forward.  When the line stopped moving, the truck shuddered and the engine sputtered and stalled out again.

On and on it went, the line moved often but not far at one time and the old truck would roar and rumble, shudder and shake until it sputtered another last breath.  Amy found herself being more impatient than usual in the slow-moving line.  It gave more time for the dread inside her to build to a crescendo.

The image of her ex-husband filled her mind.  It was like him to force her back into court for no reason, filing ridiculous motion after ridiculous motion.  Filing for reduction of child support he hadn't even bothered to pay in two months.  Filing for visitation he knew the court could not allow. She prayed the court could not allow it anyway.

The line jerked forward again, finally the noisy truck and its stops and starts had passed the ordering station and had advanced around the corner to the pick-up window.  Amy ordered just a small coffee and cursed herself for sitting in this long line for one item.  She drove up to the window, getting out her wallet as she pulled up close to the uniformed man leaning out, her coffee in hand. She pulled a five dollar bill out and attempted to hand it to him.

"You're all set.  It's all paid for", he announced, refusing her waving bill.

"What do you mean"? Amy asked him, feeling slightly confused.

"The guy in the truck ahead of you paid for your coffee". he answered.  "He said to to charge him for whatever you ordered".

Amy just stared at him.  The truck was just at the exit to the drive thru now, miraculously not stalled out. She wondered what he wanted.

The guy in the window kept talking.  "He said to tell you, that you have everything a woman should have except a smile".

The words cut like a knife.  Amy took the coffee and mumbled a "thank you".  She noticed the truck just leaving the parking lot as she drove up to the exit. Suddenly she was suspicous and anxious.  But as he drove off he headed to the onramp of the highway and continued on as she exited and went in the other direction.

She drove on into the day ahead, sipping her coffee and thinking about the strange generosity displayed by a unknown man in a truck that barely ran. Someone who gave something and wanted nothing in return.  He could not know of the weight of life she carried.  She thought about what he had said: "everything except a smile".

 A slight shock of pain rippled through her chest as she thought of the stranger, who with only a few backward glances, was able to sum up her life in a cup of coffee.

A bitter morning;
The sharpened cry of the crow,
Cuts the bleak silence.

Through the high window a peach tree
putting on bloom
attempts to impress me
As the dogwood stands forlorn
surveying its beauty, littered
a fallen halo
that April drove from it
with gusty breath and spray

Memory opens another window
to the heady scent of May
of apple blossoms and lilacs
and music
from a distant life
where my mother's voice
still sings without words

Ricky paced the short distance back and forth across the studio apartment, one hand holding the back of his head as if it might come loose.  The wail of a siren down in the street caused him to rush to the window and peer furtively through the blind.  It was only an ambulance passing through the maze of cars below.  They hadn't come for him yet but he knew enough to expect them.  The phone suddenly rang out and he jumped.  With each jangling cry Ricky's panic grew.  He picked up a book and threw it at the wall.  It hit with such force the lamp shook and the flickering light made shadows on the wall tremble as if stirring to life.  He collapsed on the floor and drew his knees up to his chest, long arms wrapped around them, muttering "Damn... damn... damn..."  until the ringing stopped.  He knew it was only a matter of time before they came.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way, nothing was supposed to happen.  No, that was not true, something was supposed to happen, but not this, not this.  Why did he let Joe talk him into this? And why did Joe bring his kid brother Cory?  Joe could have handled himself in this situation but  Cory was just a kid, he would talk.

Why did he let Carrie get mixed up in this?  "Oh God, Carrie, I'm so sorry".

From the first time he saw Carrie, he knew. That day he was at Joe's house, just hanging out with Joe and a couple of friends watching the game on TV, just killing another Saturday. They had a few beers and tossed friendly insults back and forth in the accepted ritual of male bonding.  It was then that the sing-song sounds of female chatter and laughter preceded Joe's sister Marie and two friends into the room.  His eyes immediately went to the petite girl with hair the color of honey and the big brown eyes that were so soft and gentle.  She smiled at him when Marie introduced him and he thought his heart would explode within him.  

He started hanging out at Joe's house every minute he was off work.  Even Joe was starting to get sick of him.  He hoped every day that she would come and a few times she did.  Each time he planned to talk to her and each time his nervousness overruled his plans.  Then one day she just came and sat next to him, making small talk that turned into long discussions about baseball and work and movies, he couldn't even remember what they talked about.  They talked for hours and somehow he ended up walking her home and somehow he found the courage to ask if he could call her.  Amazingly, she gave him her number and he did call her, nearly every night, his heart always sinking when she wasn't home as he imagined her out with someone else.  It was weeks before he managed to ask her out.  He remembered later her putting a hand to his cheek and joking "I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to ask you".

Last night, he held Carrie in his arms and his world was full of her smile and excitement as they planned, talking about what they would do when they had the money.  She wanted to travel, she wanted to move to the country.  She wanted to marry him, she said so; and the thought that she loved him had spurred him to go ahead with the plan despite his misgivings. He had nothing to offer her, there was no big future in his job at the video store.  He wasn't smart and he wasn't rich and he wasn't the handsomest guy around but she loved him.  She was so beautiful. She was his world and he would do anything to make her dreams come true.

It was supposed to be easy.  Joe knew some people who knew some people.  There would be a car waiting, he had the easy part. The car would be waiting, he would take it to where Joe would be waiting.  All he had to do was run the "stolen" car into the side of Joe's car and leave.  That was it.  Joe would then report to the police that there was a hit and run, the police would find a car reported stolen just that morning, but not the driver who had run off so quickly that no one could give a detailed description of him.  They had gone over it a half dozen times until everyone knew the story well enough to tell it accurately.  "That's where they trip you up" Joe said, "the details".

 Joe knew some people who knew some people.  Some lawyers.  Some doctors.  There would be insurance money.  They just had to say they were injured, they just had to show up to the clinic. Joe's insurance would pay off for "pain and suffering" under the Uninsured Motorist coverage on his policy because it was a hit and run. They would all be rich.  He and Carrie would travel and move to the country.  They would get married.  It was going to be so easy.                         
                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That morning Ricky woke before his alarm sounded .  A hot shower did nothing to relax the tension of the fear and anticipation.  He dressed quickly in nondescript jeans and hooded grey sweatshirt then waited by the phone for the call. When it finally rang he nearly jumped off the edge of the bed.  The message was brief.
 
"Hello"?

"It's a go" was all he heard Joe say, and then *click*.

Ricky walked across town, his legs taking up the distance in long strides.  Dawn should have been just showing signs of lightening the sky but the clouds were heavy overhead and scattered drops of rain polka-dotted the sidewalk, foretelling the storm that was brewing. The car was just where it was supposed to be.  It was at least ten years old and bore what he assumed were the evidences of many arranged crashes, dents and scrapes covered every inch of it's faded blue paint.  Ricky found the key inside as expected.  It started with a grouchy roar that he feared would be heard and investigated in a neighborhood suddenly awakened.  But no one looked out of windows, no movement suggested anyone noticed him at all.  He drove to where Joe would be waiting, ignoring the ever-growing fear that gripped him and the nearly audible pounding in his chest.

He approached from Washington Street, it sloped down into the intersection.  It wasn't until he got to the bottom that he realized the car wasn't slowing down. He pumped the brakes expectantly at first, then in a panic as he realized that there was no response.  Joe had pulled up into the intersection just then and obviously didn't notice how fast Ricky was coming down the hill. It was too late, Ricky couldn't control the impact of the collision and Joe, still in gear, lost control.  Ricky's body got thrown forward so hard the breath was knocked out of him but the collision stopped the car.  Joe's car careened off and with horror, Ricky watched as it crashed into a telephone pole.  

 Ricky shut off the engine but the car wasn't going to go anywhere, the left front was heavily damaged and the fender was pushed in against the tire.  He clambered out of the car and ran across the street to where Joe's car had come to a halt.  Reaching  Joe's car he managed to get the driver's door open. He was overwhelmed by a sickened feeling at the sight that greeted him inside and he wretched , his head down .  Joe's head had hit the windshield, he was unconscious. Cory was crying and moaning.   Ricky reached back into the car, his eyes down. He couldn't look at the passenger seat.  He rummaged Joe's pockets for his cellphone and handed it to Cory, screaming at him to call 911.  

And coward that he was,  Ricky ran.  He ran and ran until his chest heaved in vain attempts to take in oxygen and his leg muscles seized beneath him, and when he couldn't run any further he crumpled to the ground in a dark alley and the cry that came from his soul resounded throughout the alley and echoed his pain until dawn.

He expected the police to be waiting for him at his apartment.  He had approached the building from behind, checked out streets for two blocks in either direction and not finding any  cruisers waiting or blue uniforms, he had gone up the back stairs to his floor and entered his apartment.  Now that he was here he realized it was the last place he should have gone. But where would he go?  He didn't have a car, he didn't have any money.  If only he could talk to Joe, he would know what to do.

What was he thinking? It was Joe who got him into this in the first place.  But Joe knows some people.  Ricky didn't even know where the car came from, he had nothing to barter, he didn't know anything.  There was nothing he could do except wait.

                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They came, he knew they would. He was waiting for them.  Ricky went along with them, quiet and submissive, to the police station.  He sat alone in a room with a table and two chairs and waited. The walls were stark and stared back at him with a unflinching white glare.  He waited and he paced and then he waited some more.  The chair was cold steel.  When the detective came finally, Ricky understood they knew it all.

  Watery blue eyes fixed their gaze on him while the machine recorded.  Ricky's eyes filled with water and ran.  He said it over and and over as if to make it not real. " It wasn't supposed to happen this way".

And then he told him everything.  He told them about the plan, about Joe's car  going off the road  He told him how the pole had sliced through the right front of Joe's car, right where Carrie was sitting. He told him of Carrie's face; a permanent wide-eyed grimace, her honey hair matted with blood and wrapped around her mouth as if to stifle a scream.  But she had never made a sound.

He told him that with Carrie pinned lifelessly between the dashboard and her seat, with Joe unconscious, with Cory hysterical and sobbing, with all their lives destroyed in one greedy moment, when he saw the lights of another car approaching that early morning he had run.  But now he wasn't running.

Without Carrie there wasn't any place he wanted to be.

If I could write a poem today,
the verses would be taut.
Cleanly they would slice
through this fog
of unsettled thought.
With precision they would halt
questions that clown and
parade their painted laughter.
The smiles that mock and
the replies that tumble after
(but stop just short
of being an answer).

Everyone has potential.  Every great dictator was once just a poor slob like you.  But he had potential, and when ultimate power was his, he knew how to use it.  What kind of dictator would you make?   Take the quiz and find out.

** Note: this quiz only measures possible potential. No guarantees of absolute power are given or implied.  This quiz relates to everyday circumstances and your reactions which could point to your ability to carry off a successful dictatorship. **

1.  You are in the "express" line at the supermarket that has a limit of 10 items.  You know you have 15 items in your cart.  A woman behind you has only one item, she is standing with one hand on her lower back, shifting position in obvious discomfort and you cannot help noticing she is
very pregnant.  At this point you:

A. You wouldn't be in this line in the first place, you have too many items and it would be wrong.

B. Quickly change places with her, allowing her to go ahead of you.

C. Consider offering her your space in line, but change your mind when you see she is going to write a check.

D. Ignore her completely, you were here first. They wanted equal rights, let her wait.  

                                             **

2.  The neighbor's dog regularly visits your yard and leaves some little trophies behind that you often end up stepping in.  Do you:

A.  Call the neighbor and try to work this little problem out like reasonable adults? Who knows you could end up best friends.

B.  Finally put up that fence your wife always wanted?

C. Call the local animal control officer to enforce the leash law?
]
D.  Dig a pit and cover it with camouflage, leaving a little trail of doggie snacks leading up to it?

                                             **

3.  You come upon a group gathered outside the local grocery store who are taking up a petition to address some perceived social ill in your community that has no real effect on you personally.  What do you do?

A.  Sign the petition, you hate injustice of any kind.

B.  Read the petition carefully and make a decision based on the facts.

C.  Demand to see their permit for a public assembly and report them to the police if they can't produce it.

D.  Physically assault the first signature-gatherer with his own clipboard.  You don't appreciate people bothering you with their personal whines when you are trying to get Slim Jims on sale.

                                                **

4.  You have a job as a delivery truck driver for UPS.  As such you are timed on every run and every delivery.  The last package took two minutes too long and you are racing to make up time.  
As you approach a busy intersection you see an elderly woman trying to cross the street, she steps gingerly off the curb as you round the corner.  You then:

A.  Stop the truck and block the traffic so she can cross safely.

B.  Slow the truck in case she walks out into the street, you don't want to strike her.

C.  Honk and try to avoid hitting her but realize that if she doesn't use the crosswalk then it isn't your fault if she gets hurt.

D.  Gun the engine so that she knows you aren't about to stop.  You make an obscene gesture at her as she shakes a finger at you and laugh when the draft from your swift-moving truck knocks her down. That'll teach her.

                                               **

5. You inherit a monthly check for $100.00 but are supposed to split it equally with your sister.  She doesn't know this has happened.  Do you:

A. Give her the whole check and say you can't be bothered with it? (After all, her husband left her with three kids and you can't stand the thought of those poor little hungry kids and your only sister always worrying about trying to feed them).

B.   Split the check as directed? (Aunt Mamie might come back from the dead to haunt you if you don't)

C.   Mention it to your sister but maneuver her into agreeing that you keep it?  (You can tell her that it will only reduce her welfare check if they know she has steady income, it's a little bit true).

D.  Just pocket the money and say nothing because it would be ridiculous to split such a small check every month? (After all, it isn't your fault her no-good husband ran off on her and left her with three kids to feed all by herself.  Even if she is disabled, she ought to work like everyone else.)

                                             **

6.  An error you made caused the company to lose a large account.   You managed to cover up your tracks and the boss doesn't know you did it.  A promotion is coming up and you are in competition with Harry for the job.  Harry is more qualified than you and twice has saved your butt when you made other errors.  In the interview you realize that your boss suspects Harry was responsible for the error that cost them the large account.  You would:

A.  Confess everything and hope you don't get sacked.

B.  Tell the boss that you are sure Harry didn't cause the loss of that account but still go after the job by talking up your own strong points and let the boss decide fairly.

C.  Realize you are not as qualified as Harry but say nothing to clear his name, why mess up your own chances?

D.  Chuckle to yourself about your clean get-away and secretly plant ideas in the boss's head regarding Harry's lack of talent for his job, indicating he may have made many such errors you were able to correct.  After all, you don't want this kind of competition in the future.

              ***************************
Scoring

No calculate your score by adding the points assigned to your answers.  Add up all the points and then see which style of dictatorship suits you best.

A = 0 points
B = 1 point
C = 3 points
D = 5 points

Who is Your Inner Totalitarian?

0-5 points:  You aren't cut out to be a totalitarian, you don't have the ego to promote your own opinion as law and you are too squeamish to torture innocent people who disagree
with you. You are concerned with issues of equality and justice and basic human rights. You are destined to become a political prisoner.

6-15 points:  You  are the Shah Reza Pahlavi.  You want to civilize your country for its own good and make valuable allies but you still feel safest with your secret police to seek out dissidents and imprison them. Because of your inconsistency, you will eventually be overthrown by a zealot who has a stronger personality than you do. You might want to consider something that offers power without the risk of a political coup deposing you. Perhaps apply for a job with the IRS.

16-25 points:  You are Idi Amin.  You have all the self-centered pride and arrogance to make a perfect despot but you lack the ability to frighten similar people into working for you.  Your political enemies will escape the country and eventually return to lead an uprising against you.  You will have to flee the country taking only your Swiss bank account numbers with you and will live out your days in some tinpot little country whose dictator has taken a big enough bribe to offer you sanctuary.  The likelihood is that you will be assassinated long after the world has forgotten who you are.


26-30 points: Congratulations! You have what it takes.  You are Josef Stalin.  You will be legendary.  You have the ability to judge every situation based solely on your own interests and comfort.  The rights and feelings of others mean nothing to you. You will crush anyone who gets in your way, you believe torture is an effective tool to control the masses.  Your country is destined to be littered with the mass graves of your imagined enemies. You are a born dictator.  It is your destiny, start stepping over people today and don't worry about your conscience (I know, I know, silly me, you don't have a conscience).

It has been 15 hours and 32 minutes
since I almost said what I really meant

(My love is a river, fed
by the meltings of its season.
It bursts from springs...)

It has been only 2 hours and 14 minutes
since I proclaimed it loudly

(...deep and hidden.
It swells over reason.
It releases a flood. )

and though I said it loudly
you did not hear

(Follow its course
to tidal waters,
Be swept away with me.)

So it has been 15 hours and 32 minutes
since you thought I said something else.

They told me
I looked cold

So I asked two friends
Who knew two more

They all had words
that stood for my name

I stacked their words
like kindling, and

set myself on fire
(to the delight of the crowd)

And still I found
No warmth

I love coffee.  I have an unnatural lust for coffee.  I am not a purist either, I like many different types of coffee and will drink almost any kind if it is hot enough and strong enough.  Well, that's not true, I will sip the cold coffee on the desk too, if I am too lazy to go make more.

I do have favorite kinds of coffee, and specialty coffees I yearn for but morning coffee just has to be good and strong.  By strong I mean the flavor must be robust and stand up to you, not just the result of using too much coffee when you brew it, that only makes it bitter.  And trust me, I am bitter enough.  I want coffee that is at least as strong as I am.  I even love iced coffee.  It is like dessert. Even in January,  snow flying and  fingers frozen to the steering wheel, I can be found at the drive-thru window, ordering an iced coffee.

Coffee has been getting a bad reputation for years.  It has been considered unhealthful, an addiction (what's wrong with addictions?) and a cause of high blood pressure, stroke, and well, when the health conscious people get going, they can find a lot of reasons that you must give up anything that you actually enjoy.

 But lately the tide has been turning.  I don't know if it is the coffee growers or some huge corporate conglomerate paying the research scientists but the medical community is finding more and more health benefits to coffee.

Did you know, for instance, that drinking coffee helps prevent cavities? Science Daily reports that a substance in coffee prevents the adhesion of Streptococcus mutans on dental surfaces, thereby stopping their colonization and the resultant caries.  Ain't that a kick in the head?  So when someone tells you coffee is not good for you, just tell them your dentist recommended it.

But that's not all.  Coffee has been shown to reduce the risk of Parkinson's Disease, Type II Diabetes and colon cancer.  Research indicates that women who drink moderate amounts of coffee have better memory retention in their later years.  It reduces the risk of liver cirrhosis, boosts your mood and may treat headaches.

Some people are good to go with one cup of coffee in the morning.  I drink coffee pretty much all day, any time of day is a good time for coffee.  So I was more than pleased to read that for most health benefits, the more you drink the better.

 There hasn't been any research done on this yet, but it is my firm conviction that copious amounts of coffee is absolutely essential to blogging.

So, when it comes to coffee, drink up.  It's good for you.

Morning on a well worn road
when instinct drives the car

Only memory at the wheel
a rhythm tight and familiar

You crossed my mind
in the middle of the traffic

And those words escaped me
in soundless articulation

They felt satisfying on my lips
like some compelling revelation

A red-faced man in a dented Ford
saw, thought he was the intended

He patted his comb-over and his ego
in that mirror all the way to work