Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Monday, March 22, 2010

This Fella


Here's the deal

There was this fella, see
kinda shiftless
the wanderin sort,
in his mind and heart, mostly

and so anyway,
one cold winter day
while the world did algebra
he clumb under a fence
crossed the county line
and hitched a ride on an
old freight train.
all clammer n rust.

Now this fella, see,
he didn't know where he was going
only knew where he'd been
and to him
that seemed the point

after a dream or two
he whistle woke up
and so knew he was comin to somewhere
and somewhere smelled like river

so with a leap and a shout
out he goes
a tumblin and rollin
plummetin to the edge of somewhere

after a dust off, he took a walk around
and found things most peculiar;
no laws nor sense of laws
as far as he could tell
and all the tomorrows longed only
of yesterday
and all the yesterdays
hoped for impossible tomorrows

after pokin around some,
he found himself at the intersection of anguish and laughter
and with squint eye and curled lip
he let himself be drawn
into the unkempt neighborhood

now all the doors to all the houses were open
as were the windows
and this one would go to that one
and that one to who's
and who's to his
and hers to whoevers

well this here fella took a liking to it all
pretty much right away
and he too began to visit his and who's
and sometimes hers

there were always five or six in every house
sometimes the kitchen
sometimes the living room
sometimes,
-well, you know

and there was always a back door
shut
if you opened it
and few cared to,
you would see a man lazy-boy hangin,
newspaper reading to Gunsmoke
blazing a trail to the past.

or maybe a woman
baking cookies for the church bazaar
while kids in sandboxes
grape juiced their white t-shirts,
and dogs chased chipmunks.
-that sort of stuff

but danged to hell, they couldn't see you!
Matt Dillon can shoot the wings off a fly
but don't know nothin bout passwords,
and good thing, too

well anyway,
this fella got to knowin these other fellas
and these other fellas female fellas
and before you knew it
he was a whoever
without ever knowin he wanted to be one!

and before you knew it,
all the little houses became one big house
with many rooms
and crazy locks on broken doors and curtains
with feet in fuzzy socks
toeing inward from underneath


now for a wanderin sort a fella
used to whims and riding alone

on broken dreams
this was quite a pickle!

out the back way was just Gunsmoke, PTA,
and damnation shot full of holes by preachers
with big black bibles.
and the way to the front door
was a bump and grind
against all the new who's comin in
to meet the new whoevers
and wannabes


didn't seem like no hurry anyway
as the others accepted him
cuz he made a pretty good drink
and rarely blew his smoke in their face

the house seemed thin on whoever's
and he told a good yarn or two
or so they said
*wink wink*

so's one day this here fella notices
that he's damn near invisible.
he can walk through the house without anybody shakin his hand
or asking for a story
and some forgettin they ever knew him.
and most of the others seemed distracted.
by the newer whoevers and hers
and howcomes and whys.

so he starts workin his way through the maze of rooms, see,
toward the front door.

oh, a smile here
a pat there
an elbow to yesterday

but strictly cheshire

and before he knows it, this here, fella
this whoever
this grinning fool
is at the front door
and looking in
he sees no one looking back
just blended voices
and laughter
shielding folded notes.

takin a moment, he leans,
cuz he likes to lean
and does it well

looking at his drink,
he raises it for the last swallow
but pauses
and sets it down
knowing the last swallow
should never be had

it never really was his party
and welcome long ago flew
on the wings of hot buttered seagulls.

lighting his cigarette,
he tries the door.

it opens easily
to quiet

for a moment he thinks to go back
for a moment he thinks to slam
for a moment he thinks to leave it open
just in case
*click*


~rick