I barfed off and on last night
but my heart wasn’t in it.
If you are going to barf —
‘barf’ is a much nicer word than ‘vomit’ –
you’ve got to be committed,
not lackadaisical
like the time I went to the doctor
for anti-depressants and was refused
because ‘you are not depressed enough’.
I can’t give myself wholeheartedly
to anything, it seems.
‘Except your writing’,
my ex told me.
‘Except your writing’.
Iron Man isn’t up to it today.
You can tell by the way he slopes around
in his baggy shorts and tee
dazed like he’s been smoking weed.
He dawdles a lot between reps.
Guzzles the urine coloured liquid to replace the energy he hasn’t used.
Plays with the machines like a cat with a mouse.
Jabbers at Stella how she isn’t doing it right,
to anyone really with a loose ear.
Truly he is more motor-mouth than Iron Man.
The rash on my back
has dimmed:
angry red
to demure blush.
I wish I never
had thrush
in my left nostril —
in that cramped cave
hard for the air
to get through
but the meds kept
the wolf at bay,
subdued.
Almost out of the woods
like Red Riding Hood.
I’m really looking forward to today.
Today’s the day I don’t exercise.
Oh, I may lift a finger to pen a poem
or two,
stretch a limb to reach for the remote
or break into a walk to put out the bins
but that’s it.
Today the body gets its chance
to plonk itself down in the armchair of life
and not feel guilty.
Have a glass or two. Eat some chocolates.
Read ‘The New Yorker’.
A day of indolence and roses.
Penny has a new pet.
A Labrador called Lucky.
It’s what she always wanted.
Well, almost.
He sits, jumps and spins around
and chases after frisbees.
Penny takes him for long walks
on the screen.
When he’s tired Penny puts him to bed.
His kennel is a black microchip.
When Penny slips it in the game console
each morning
Lucky comes out to play.
He woofs with delight and rubs
his snowy head against the screen.
Penny would love to cuddle him.
There’s a cartoon of a couple in a car
tearing down a roller coaster
and the woman says to the man, “With you screaming all the time,
I can’t hear myself scream.”
Men are so much noisier than women, my partner says.
When I began barfing in the bushes at a country fair
She implored
, “Can’t you barf quietly? Everybody is watching.”
Barfing has no volume control,
I wanted to say
but I was too busy being sick.
All week I have been reading Carolyn,
Her chapbook of twenty poems focused
on one anatomical feature — the ankle.
How could anyone do that? I wondered.
Breasts, yes, the penis, body parts
with a sexual agenda. But the ankle?
I read on. Carolyn fractured hers
recently in a fall so that provided the bones
of the material.
Wonderful, warm, poems,
inventive and insightful that trace her
journey towards wellness.
My favourite?
‘Zero Weight Bear’ with its zen-like title and
witty word-play. ‘Gravity Sucks’ runs a gamut
of emotions but ends like the collection itself
on an optimistic note.
The trouble is I can’t let go.
I go in for a scan and am and told
they will contact me in due course.
Within days I hear nothing and think of phoning back.
How many days does it take to read a scan?
Persistence is a virtue but so too is Patience.
How to balance one against the other?
I phone back anyway.
I’m put on hold.
I’m always put on hold when I practice persistence.
Perhaps it’s a lesson.
Perhaps I should listen..
When does being persistent become pesky?
It’s tricky being human.
Hey! He said. Why are those bozos off the leash and I’m not?
You have Attitude! I answered.
Oh great! People with Attitude should be leashed? What about rappers, revolutionaries, politicians with morals?
There are no such things, I said, as politicians with morals.
You got that one right, he said. And anyway, what about you? You have Attitude. Perhaps you should be on a leash.
Perhaps, I smiled.
Look, he said, let’s change places, just for five minutes. That’s fair, isn’t it?
I had to concede that it was.
Hey! The collar’s a bit tight.
He loosened it a little.
So off we toddled along the beach, he on his hinds, me on all fours, the three bozos scattering seagulls.
I want a holiday from Blame.
I’m sorry I ever knew its name.
It should be sent up in flames.
I know its nasty little game.
From small beginnings it sneakily came
into our lives. Could not be tamed.
No love affair can be sustained
In the endless barrage of Blame.
So let us now both abstain.
I want a holiday from Blame.
A holiday from Blame.
Won’t you come with me?
We can start again.
John Malone 