AT LONG LAST from John Hicks on Vimeo.
Bob Hudson
16 Articles
can’t there be a sense of positivity
that’s not sold the way soap is sold?
they were doing nothing
they were sitting around
telling stories about the way the world is
and I could not argue
with the truth
of their sad conclusions
the wind in the trees puts me in a trance
again
in the backyard with a record player
a long orange extension cord
a rock star cellist from the 1940s
“What are you smiling at?”
the man with a bag of cans
snarls at me
as I swoop by on my bicycle
to the door
of the grocery store
why are you reading this
got to be something
you’ve got to do
yet here you are
frittering I’d say
the torture goes on
I can hear the sounds of it
so I put up a wall
between me and it
and think of other things
it’s not like I haven’t tried to kill the bastard
who wields the voodoo doll and the long pins
I’ve looked everywhere
I swear I got the Christmas tree
broke the ornaments out of the attic
sang the songs
held the child’s hand
showed up and coughed up
for the plate
married a long time
work takes me on the road
for a few days
and nights
get home
stomp in the house
say, “I am very glad to see you, baby.”
on Sunday
I fix the light out back
get some groceries
burn old branches
in the backyard
under the giant oaks
drink beer in the shifting sunshine
From the collection into the cold wind: winter poems (Buy Me Lunch, 2010) by Bob Hudson
This morning, while waiting on a call from the daytime radiologist, who would give me his take on the cat scan my wife got last night – the night shift radiologist must be second string – and tell us if it was a “spot on her lung,” or some kind of photographic anomaly – we tried to buy a heart attack. They want to sell us cancer. Several thoughts revolved through my head.
One thought was, “Great! What a perfect excuse to go from occasional over-indulger to full time drunk. What unbelievable quantities of slack I’d be cut.”
I ran out of patience
took over
decided who to cut
from the team
everyone swayed
to my arbitrary whims