Category: Truth

Although authoritarian,
my parents were nervous of authority
or rather, authorities.
Priest,
Policeman,
practitioner of medicine,
school principal
rendered their absolute, obeisant
replaced stern, with meek.

“Yes Fr.
Of course Dr.
Our thoughts exactly Mr/Mrs/Miss …. .”

When the water right was disputed
I said I would go with them
to the lawyer
and then the hearings.

After court, and the ruling
they wanted to show their appreciation
a bottle of wine,
or a CD
would have annulled any debt
but was considered cheap.
An expensive restaurant was ordered
the food was good
very good
but left an aftertaste
salt sadness
the sharp tang of proof,
of genetics, known and unknowing.
I’d have preferred fries and beer at the beach
or pizza and Chianti in the park – they had no idea.

Missouri, he claimed, was a southern state
antipodean high school geography was confused
remembering borders with Iowa, Nebraska and Illinois
but,
didn’t want to upset the boss.

Still, he was from the part
which tucked as a chin into Arkansas
so perhaps for him an exception.
Southern man. By spirit. By prejudice. By wit.
Rick and Ricky.
Ricky, in the evening company of Jack Daniels
Rick, in the blurred light of new day.
Ricky at Christmas and Thanksgiving. Rick at all other times.

Rick. Mess captain at the diner, on the edge of the world.
Antarctica,
cold and full of white shit
that was the overheard description, to his wife –
on an intercontinental phone hook up.

Cotton Belt molasses speed advice –
once, a pretty young thing surprised
3000 miles from nearest habitation
“you mean you bake bread here.”
“Boy,” he said
“before ya hire a woman, go outside and jack off.”

Another time when exclaiming
how could it possibly be my fault –
“boy,
shit flows downhill.”

A decade later
When it was my turn at the wheel,
I only ever hired sturdy, sensible, middle-aged women
and
told staff effluent flowed from the top office
downhill, onto the factory floor.

It was just luck she said.
Luck, never fully credited by the archivists of success
overshadowed by collaborators,
and sometime rivals – talent and application.

On this occasion, there could be no dispute
it was luck, and only luck –
no doubt
the doctors thought it a matter of seconds
perhaps as few as 10, or 20.

The hose passes no judgement
only the engine’s exhalation
oxides of carbon ….. promising calm
fading pain, from infinity, to possibility, to empty.

Memory takes hostage the riverside watercolour
trees of fleeing sunshine,
stones of cooled shadow.
Opportunity – recreation finished,
lovers yet to arrive
despair closes eyes …. and leaps.

The last waltz – unpartnered
resolution gathers speed, rushing to darkness
something slows, gravity shifts, balance overturns
a surfer flung from a board – carried by the waves.

It was just luck she said
oversight failed to lock the door
unconsciousness’s slump, thrust it open – to life
to profound neurological damage,
to 29 years old, forever six. “Bad luck,” she said. “Shit timing.”