9 passengers
5 of them
victims
5 of them
victims
"I told her
to shut the
fuck up. Her
mouth was only
good for one thing
and it needed to be
plugged while doing it."
3 of the 4 now
red faced, suppressing
laughter. They can't believe
I say these things.
Floor 2. One person steps off.
Hah! I know they work on the 4th floor.
They opted for the stairs.
Doors.
"So that's when I punched her in the stomach.
You know, I'm due in court next week."
Floor 3 and 3of 4 leave; it's my stop, but I stay.
Doors
I back up to a corner of 3. I'm not aware of personal
space. Don't care.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a bottle of something
obviously prescription, shake 2 white rattled-around pills
into my palm. Throw them in my mouth and and...chew slowly
Doors
Floor 4. This is a different agency. The remaining 4 get off, 1
has one more flight to go but opts for the stairs. I might see him
to shut the
fuck up. Her
mouth was only
good for one thing
and it needed to be
plugged while doing it."
3 of the 4 now
red faced, suppressing
laughter. They can't believe
I say these things.
Floor 2. One person steps off.
Hah! I know they work on the 4th floor.
They opted for the stairs.
Doors.
"So that's when I punched her in the stomach.
You know, I'm due in court next week."
Floor 3 and 3of 4 leave; it's my stop, but I stay.
Doors
I back up to a corner of 3. I'm not aware of personal
space. Don't care.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a bottle of something
obviously prescription, shake 2 white rattled-around pills
into my palm. Throw them in my mouth and and...chew slowly
Doors
Floor 4. This is a different agency. The remaining 4 get off, 1
has one more flight to go but opts for the stairs. I might see him
on the way back down when I take the stairs on 5.
I wonder
how a passer-by
acts when
there isn't
an opposite
side
of
the
street
I wonder
how a passer-by
acts when
there isn't
an opposite
side
of
the
street
I love the concept of a street having no other side. Such streets do exist, although normally only provisionally.
ReplyDeleteThe end of your poem brought to mind the second to last strophe in this poem written by Borges. The theme is mythical
construction. I give you the original because I know you do not appreciate Spanish poems in translation:
Fundación Mítica de Buenos Aires
¿Y fue por este río de sueñera y barro
que las proas vinieron a fundarme la patria?
Irían a los tumbos los barquitos pintados
entre los camalotes de la corriente zaina.
Pensando bien la cosa, supondremos que el río
era azulejo entonces como oriundo del cielo
con su estrellita roja para marcar el sitio
en que ayunó Juan Díaz y los indios comieron.
Lo cierto es que mil hombres y otros mil arribaron
por un mar que tenía cinco lunas de anchura
y aún estaba poblado de sirenas y endriagos
y de piedras imanes que enloquecen a la brújula.
Prendieron unos ranchos trémulos en la costa,
durmieron extrañados. Dicen que en el Riachuelo,
pero son embelecos fraguados en el Boca.
Fue una manzana entera y en mi barrio: en Palermo
Una manzana entera pero en mitá del campo
presenciada de auroras y lluvias y sudestadas.
La manzana pareja que persiste en mi barrio:
Guatemala, Serrano, Paraguay, Gurruchaga.
Un almacén rosado como revés de naipe
brilló y en la trastienda conversaron un truco;
el almacén rosado floreció en un compadre,
ya patrón de la esquina, ya resentido y duro.
El primer organito salvaba el horizonte
con su achacoso porte, su habanera y su gringo.
El corralón seguro ya opinaba: YRIGOYEN,
algún piano mandaba tangos de Saborido.
Una cigarrería sahumó como una rosa
el desierto. La tarde se había ahondado en ayeres,
los hombres compartieron una pasado ilusorio.
Sólo faltó una cosa: la vereda de enfrente.
A mi se me hace cuento que empezó Buenos Aires:
La juzgo tan eterna como el agua y el aire.
Jorge Luis Borges, 1929
I should say more; however, nonetheless, all words aside, this turned me on. I could taste the hunt.
ReplyDeletePaul
CTD,
ReplyDeleteThis was disturbing but in a very controlled way. It was like a serial killer practicing for the future.
I too liked the concept of no street sides to escape to.
seraph
I actually do this sort of thing all the time.
ReplyDeleteI'm a very well-loved person so I get away with a lot of stuff.
Each moment in life is important, not to be wasted.
Oh, and I have a buddy who makes me look like a tax assessor.
He does things that make you want to run and hide.
Last week, he took one of his cats to a bar. At 8 AM. And he argued with the bartender about why the cat couldn't stay.
V~
ReplyDeleteThe Borges poem was like a hybrid of Ray Bradbury, Pablo Neruda and Ernest Hemmingway.
I can smell the sour sweat, spilled tequila, hand rolled cigars and feel the layer of clay dust on the back of my neck between my collar.
Time placed this berlina in a time where towns didn't have anything on the other side of the road to cross over to. Nothing but sage, chaparral, agave, saguaro and hurt.
Those playing cards long since worn and marked for a good hand.