Imperial 58 typewriter two


bought this monster about 30 years ago at a church bazaar and lugged it home by public transit, for the next few days after my arms were about six inches longer than usual.

Poem – In the Bar


this is one of the poems of mine to be published in the upcoming anthology of the Mariposa Writers Group November 2011

In the Bar

 

we stand behind our high chairs at the bar

like matadors ready for something new

 

the women come in & go out

or wait      they watch      we look

 

our conversation about them

or not      rating          losing all ability to think

derailed when one beauty

 

or another walks past

we drink too much       it is almost enough

 

the game is on the TV

suspended 15 feet above our heads.

 

you have a toy bet with one of the waiters

just for $25   a sliver of distraction

 

beyond the glass wall the taxis slide north

the snow falling harder     in diagonal stripes.

 

“another day in paradise” you say, and then

“you have to share the love.”

 

I think about the meaning of something

as I always do and remember what I said before

 

“eveyone in their mind is eighteen forever

no matter what lies our bodies tell us.”

 

I remember when we were young

and knew better        at least we thought we did.

 

then you start talking about God

and eternity            then take out your cell phone

 

to see the number of your latest call

and I start to laugh because we are not killing time

 

we are out playing            drinking     talking     smoking

laughing                   being a little stupid & more bitter

 

than the lemon        on the asshole’s bottle of Corona

standing next to me        who keeps asking me about golf.

 

I look past to last week & the young blonde

we talked with in here    & her girlfriend who was going

 

to New York City to act & wasn’t pretty enough

but the blonde was               & when she slipped off her

 

black leather suit jacket      my eyes fell on her bare

shoulders          her twenty-four-year-old honey skin

that led past the gold chain & locket

to the tops of her breasts          & she laughed

 

 

& it was summer & I was over there

          & had      been swimming for a long time & my muscles

 

          my back      & legs     

          & arms hummed     quietly

          over & over again       the same curved line

 

          the pure curved line

          in the sun       that was nothing

          not magic        not thought       not any damned thing

 

          my body tired with the sweet

          tired of play     without

          my mind turning      over the pieces of the mechanism

 

          like the old watchmaker I have become

          never dreamed I             

          would go directly there     my life

 

and I knew absolutely that my lips would

never slide to the nape of her neck

 

and only the last thought was in her head too

she drank dry martinis until       the guy showed up

 

she had been waiting for    who ignored us politely

he was dressed exactly      like a magazine advertisement

 

the ink still wet     she talked to two other guys

to keep him                 in the right state of balance

 

we watched him panting for her for an hour

he hid it brilliantly & they left

 

for a party or something    you drank scotch     doubles

I switched back to beer           you won the bet in overtime.

 

at last     my taxi driver & I did not speak     about God.

the snow fell harder & harder                   making

 

the streetlights & the Christmas lights

very very pretty.

 

and so it goes


a brief look back over the week

  • dialysis has been smooth the past week
  • the bad ulcer on my left heel in the achilles tendon zone is slowly healing
  • I did some extra walking to get the photos of the proposed industrial development opposite Ste. Marie Among the Hurons (see previous post) this week and I paid for that over the next few days.
  • my weight remains a match for my university days more than 35 years ago

industrial development? across from Ste. Marie Among the Hurons on the Wye River, Midland, Ontario


apparently Midland, Ontario is looking at putting an industrial development very close to the right bank of the Wye River

Martyrs Shrine is across the highway from this spot, behind me and over my left shoulder. It celebrates the Jesuit Martyrs who lived and worked at Ste. Marie in the 1640s.

Ste. Marie is a major historic site.

Surely there is another site to put a fabric recycling plant.

crutches – Martyrs’ Shrine Midland Ontario


taken in August w. Samsung PL81 – the next day my diabetic ulcer pain pushed me to go to Emergency….are these all miraculous cures from the Canadian Jesuit Martyrs?