Frozen Smoke
Weekend nights, the time where youth meets age
and the light drizzles down from overhead bulbs,
the world freezes as what little warmth
floats and curls around the room in thoughtless patterns,
the floor is stained from bad choices,
decisions that permeate the earth in common splatter
and come together here and now.
I find it quite comforting
all of this
a knock on the door and one more arrives
bearing a soul as heavy as the sky,
the dark sky of nighttime,
but caring little either way for the light
Scared and moral minds may scoff at
(unknowing their futures)
the night
but I bet they never see it coming
nor will they be ready
“I don’t want to go there,”
squeal the conscious thoughts of the bourgeois
“It’s not nice.”
But instead we say, through broken laughter
“Your places are far too nice anyway.”
As the smoke practically freezes in the air
and tumbles to the concrete floor in a broken fashion,
we look about the room with smiles,
heating our souls in preparation for the final day
and endless
nights.
#realism #Bukowski #smoke #morals #life
The Planet’s Burden
Take up the planet’s burden--
Begin this earthly task,
From the deepest ocean caverns,
To the light in which we bask;
Bring the brightest minds,
Ensure a new solution,
To cure the woeful planet’s ills,
Of depletion and pollution.
Take up the planet’s burden--
The generation of action is nigh,
Lest our children’s children find,
That all the water is dry;
The birds no longer chirping,
No sweet song in the air,
Air that’s cold and smoggy,
Destroyed beyond repair.
Take up the planet’s burden--
While time is running short,
The sand has not yet fallen through,
I am happy to report;
Though the trees are weeping,
Crying silent tears,
Efforts that can still be made,
Could heal the broken years.
Take up the planet’s burden--
Do not dismiss the truth,
With bleak horizons on the rise,
It must be through the youth;
Only through their open minds,
To navigate the endless maze,
Can any aid be given forth,
To break them of their idle ways.
Take up the planet’s burden--
The work shall never cease,
For the world is truly ours,
If only through a lease;
Eyes are shut when fingers cross,
Hope must couple with reaction,
Salvaging a total loss,
To the planet’s satisfaction.
Play me for a fool?
"I don’t know how that got there.” The previous morning, I woke up in a trashed hotel room, and now I was being interrogated by a group of burly enforcers. One of them held up a dangling key ring, and posed a question I had heard many times in the past day or two. “Where did you get this?” I repeated myself, “I have no idea how that got there.” I was being honest with them. Well, kind of. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. I bet you’re wondering what I’m talking about, so I will explain. Here is what happened...
It all started about a week ago. John Andrews, a friend whom I had known for many a year called me to Indiana under mysterious circumstances. He said it was important that I be there. I trusted him, and booked a flight to the Hoosier state. I checked into a 3 star hotel, laid back on the bed, and turned on the TV. It had been a long flight, and I needed some down time before I called John. When the large tube television finally powered up, I saw these words rolling across the screen: Western Indiana Museum of Arts and History Robbed. I stared at the screen for a moment, startled by the coincidence. I then decided that now would be as good a time as ever to call John and see why I was here.
John told me to meet him at a local restaurant about 3 blocks away. I was anxious to learn why I was called here, so I walked briskly to the restaurant. I immediately saw John, who was sitting in the corner with his hat down over most of his face. I sat down at the table, and immediately said “So, why am I here John. What’s going on?” John leaned back in his chair and smirked. “All in good time, my friend.” I rolled my eyes. John was always the riddling type. He leaned forward again, grabbed the small briefcase that was sitting between him and the wall, and said “Excuse me for a moment.” He headed into the bathroom with his briefcase in hand. After about a minute, he emerged from the bathroom and put the briefcase back down where it was. He then turned to me and said “Thank you so much for coming.” He then grabbed me and hugged me for about 5 seconds, which really caught me off guard. That really wasn’t John’s thing. With that, he turned and half walked, half jogged out of the restaurant. I was so confused, I didn’t notice that he left his briefcase until he was long gone.
I spent the entire walk back to the hotel, carrying John’s briefcase, thinking about what the heck was going on. When I got back to the room, I changed my clothes and tried to contact John. After having no luck, I laid back and tried to wrap my head around what had occurred. After pondering a long while, I eventually dosed off into a disturbed sleep. I awoke early the next morning, just as conflicted as I was the previous night. I decided that some coffee was in order, so I took a short walk down to the hotel café in the rear of the building and ordered a large espresso. I briefly picked up a newspaper, which was of course featuring the museum heist on full blast. As I sipped the last of the coffee, I began the ascent back to my room to give John another call. He hadn’t answered his phone since I last saw him, and I was seriously concerned. When I turned the knob to re-enter my room, my deep thought was shattered by an awful sight. My hotel room was completely trashed. John’s briefcase and my clothes from the previous day had been stolen. This was by far the strangest thing that had ever happened to me. Little did I know what was to come.
I again tried to call John, but I continued to come up empty. What was I to do? I instantly decided that, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t call the police. Whatever John was involved in, I realized I was knee deep in it as well. I tried to think of something that would ease my mind. I figured I would see some of the sights for now, but the museum had been robbed, so that was out. I decided to take a walk around the historic part of town. I was there about ten minutes, when I saw two men with binoculars standing on the sidewalk across from me. What was strange about this was they seemed to be watching, well, me! Then, before I knew it, it happened. I was grabbed from behind and stuffed into a car that was driving by. A gag was shoved in my mouth, and I was stuck in the back seat of a black Lincoln. Whoever was kidnapping me was obviously a pro.
When we arrived, I was dragged into a dark room and thrown against a wall. I was temporarily blinded by a bright light being shined in my face, and I saw a group of huge men staring at me. One of them yelled “Where is it, John!” I did a double take. John? “We know you have it!” I stammered “What…What? I’m not John!” Another of the huge men smiled and held up my pants that were stolen. “Then why did I find John’s wallet in your pants?” I was flabbergasted. John’s wallet? He must have planted it on me. What is this about? “I don’t know how that got there.” Then he pulled out the keys. “Where did you get this?” I thought for a moment. Where have I seen those? They must have been in John’s briefcase. “I have no idea how that got there.” They looked at each other, and one said “We know you stole our loot, John. Where is it?” I searched for something, anything that would help me. Then I thought of the Museum robbery. They did it! But, John stole it from them? How? I had more questions than answers. The only thing I could think to say was “I am not John!” One smiled and said “Well, not John, where can we find the real John Andrews?” I had no idea where he was, but judging by the way one of them was reaching into his coat, I knew I had to think fast. “I know John! He called me here! But I don’t know where he is.” They looked at each other again, clearly forming a plan of attack. I yelled “I have his number!” They all turned back to me. One asked, “Well, what is it?” I gave it to them, fearing for my life. They then left me in the tiny room with only the bright lamp and John’s keys. Wait, John’s keys! They left them on the table. I instinctively reached for them, but I pulled back. This is a trap, I thought to myself. But I had no other option, so I grabbed the keys and ran to the door. I tried to pick the lock with the first key. No luck. Surprisingly, the second key actually jarred the lock enough for me to get out. I grabbed the lamp, the closest thing to a weapon I could find, and barged out the door. I ran to the entrance, and sprinted out into the parking lot. I scanned the lot, looking for something that would help. I saw the car that brought me in, and I made a run for it. I slid in to the unlocked car, and found the keys still in the ignition. This was too easy. I sped out of the parking lot and on to the road.
I thought hard, trying to figure out what I should do. Should I sell John out? Should I try to team up with John? Or, should I go to the authorities, and risk one of them coming after me. I thought even harder about what John said, trying to find anything that would give me some sort of clue. I thought back to the restaurant. “All in good time.” Then it hit me. Good time! The French were the first Europeans to come to Indiana. I remembered the restaurant. Bon Temps, the French word for good time, was over a rear exit door. John told me everything! Just as I thought I had a handle on things, I saw another black car following me. I sped up, turning down a back road. Then I swerved off into someone’s yard, and found a path that lead back out to the main road. I gunned it, and popped back out with nobody behind me. I headed straight for the restaurant, keys in hand.
When I arrived, I pulled around back and found the door that had Bon Temps over it. Panning around, I noticed a door right next to the dumpster behind the restaurant. I tried a key, and it worked. I cracked the door, and saw the piles of stolen goods. He had everything from a rare painting to a Ming vase. I locked the door and went back to the car. I turned to see John pulling into the alley. He hopped out of the car and said “I left my briefcase in the restaurant. Do you have it?” Just then, the black car pulled into the alley. John hopped back into his car, trying to get away. I palmed the keys and dove into the Lincoln. I drove away, straight to the police station. I told them everything, and both John and the museum robbers were arrested. For all my trouble, all I got was the million dollar reward that was out for the stolen goods. I suppose John thought he was going to play me for a fool, but I don't think it turned out quite like he wanted. As I sit here in my secluded beach house telling you this story, I think back on the whole ordeal. That was a good time!
