Two days ago, the way things slowed down in 2009-10, very much on my mind,
the work lull, which might-could have been merely a respite, an opportunity to relax,
took on the appearance of a large looming figure on whose face, mostly
obscured in the shadows, I imagined a sardonic fuck you grin.
And what ? two days later I don’t imagine a thing. Hell, I stare the motherfucker down.
Yeah, really, he blinks first, and then I tell him to stick it up his ass.
Things that stalked me yesterday, things I considered while trying to sleep,
things that wouldn’t leave me be till I faced ‘em,
even put some aside for when I’m too old to grab the ladder from atop the truck,
heft it on my shoulder, across the avenue and into whatever restaurant or store front
I’ve attached myself to. The looming figure?
Well, yeah, he'll outlast me. He'll win in the end. But today, I made
good money and am sipping cheap whiskey and listening to Monk in what
I gather is Copenhagen in 71. Today I tell that hulking shape go fuck yourself.
Then I watch the old clip in which the scowl of Monk’a face, then its sadness
tell me surely he’s burdened.
Today, I hear that someone I know and his girl left their apartment together
a few weeks ago and didn’t exchange a word. He’s not seen her since
and the worry or the loss is a burden.