My Human Experience—June 18, 2007

Today, at a fast-food restaurant, I stood with my old friend John Henning, waiting in line for our food from the counter. We were talking baseball, which I always enjoy with John, and I wasn’t paying very much attention to anyone other than me. Typical. I was very hungry, and John and I were having a lively discussion because the Rockies are winning.
Trays were being loaded with side items and moving out quickly after the order was completed. I saw a tray resembling what I thought mine would look like. I took my ketchup, napkins, and straw, and sat them on the tray and began eating the fries, one by one. I noticed a large dark-skinned gray haired man leering at me from my left. I wondered instantly if I had begun to devour his fries and not mine. A moment later when the announcement was his, he stormed over and said, “Give me some more fries” as he picked up the fry carton and flung it toward a tray that turned out to be mine, followed by my other accessories and scoops and handfuls of thrown fries. I felt his blood boil as he murmured obscenities and insults under his breath. I felt the excited tension build as he hurled, “idiot” my way. And I did not disagree. I apologized as cordially as I could and took all the blame. But he was not satisfied, and would never forgive me. I ruined his lunch.

Hearing and Knowing vs. Meeting and Seeing

I heard about D before I met him.
I think he heard about me before he met me too.
Its funny how it started out like that;
Hearing before meeting;
Knowing before seeing.

Now we hear about each other (phone, blogs, email)
more than we meet with each other.
Its funny how we keep it going like this;
Hearing more than meeting;
Knowing more than seeing.

Would Jefferson and Adams still have written letters
if there had been telephone, or email?
I think they would have.

Would Cicero still have written all those letters
to his beloved friends
and companions of heart
if there had been telephone, or email?
I believe he would have.

In missing my friend,
I remember what he has said to me.
I replay him.
His expression,
of face
and word.
In his distance, he is closer
than many I see and meet,
but have such trouble hearing
and knowing.

Drop the Wrench and Back Away Slowly

We are passionate,
smart,
creative,
self motivated,
and other elevated adjectives
that bullshit bloated
childhood authority figures
drilled into our foreheads,
eager empty eyed missionaries
tightening bolts
on our social salvation,
and each day of our lives
we do what we can
to escape the impossible
fucking goal of living up to
adjectives:

---

We are passionate about escape
We escape in intellegent ways
We escape in creative ways
We are self motivated to escape
Everyone I know gives escape one hundred and ten fucking percent!

---

and in doing so
we do so.

went down to 7 bucks a whack
to get my haircut
by the old lady barber
w/ the little fur ball pooch
wearing a jean jacket
panting its felt tab tongue

an old man is getting his
hair cut
then a younger man waiting
& me in third

she finishes the old man
he gets up
& digs in his wallet
she sweeps up
skiffs of gray hair
brooming
the chrome hubcap base
of the barber’s chair

he gives her a crumpled fold of bills
‘thank you doll,’ he says
he reaches out
& they squeeze hands
in a wrinkled understanding
once, not so long ago,
they weren’t the generation
next in line for the grave

‘i’m gonna go have some beers’
he says on his way out
‘well then go across the street,’ she hollers after him

the guy next in line sits in the chair
the old man goes out the front door
& turns up the sidewalk

‘i didn’t mean in that direction’
she says to us
as the old man heads left
towards the dancin’ bare
strip club