Does anyone remember the 80s and AIDs?

How we didn’t know what was going on and
we washed our hands after greeting someone
just in case they were
you know …
that type, one of “them”?

It’s now back in fashion.
This fear.
This primitive, so human
fear,
fed by our imaginations
and our deep need to
exclude, shame, frame
the “other”.

Who has Covid now?
Who squeezed this pack of Charman
and didn’t wipe it down after?
Who got the jab, who didn’t?
Who is on the right side of history?
Who is the one infecting MY world?

Yahweh still speaks to us.
Hide your children, your firstborn!
Look above!
The sky is black with locusts, flies and frogs.
The rumors persist;
Who now is poisoning our wells?
The lepers are marching on the town.
Our neighbors are kissing Lucifer’s white buns.
Yes. Fear, death, retribution
— They plague us,
But the rats know the truth.

We aren’t suffering from COVID 19.
We are suffering from anxiety
and not being alive.

Our lives are dressed in
that same fear
that made us stupidly
wipe down each toilet seat
we once sat on.

58
washed up
bushy eyebrows
dirty, old man thoughts,
2 eggs sunny side up
sit n sit n sit
shit
the day won’t go away.

Headache, pills.
Stronger pills.
After noon
one drink, two drinks, more
sun through the door
sit n sit n sit
shit
it’s dark
cold noodles and bread
more dirty thoughts
pills
the end.

58 and a day.

If you don’t like what you got

give it away, crush it, blow it up.

Get on with it ….

If your check isn’t in the mail

If your boat didn’t come in

don’t wait

screw ’em, screw ’em and the universe

laugh, laugh loudly

go have a beer

roll in the wet grass

don’t stop or slow down.

Get on with it …..

If you can’t stand the President

don’t whine like a ninny

go over to the window

and scream it for all to hear

for the people to know

Don’t hesitate.

Get on with it ….

If the car’s not starting

the neighbors are too loud

you can’t stand your wife

your life ….

walk away

even if just for a while

screw it

the world won’t stop its nonsense

so why should you.

Get on with it ….

If you’re constipated

If your teeth have all fallen out

If you can’t get it up

If your stocks are down

Pour a stiff drink

run the ice over your tongue

you’re here

it’s all good.

Get on with it …..

There are people who

believe in aliens

but have never

seen any.

There are people who

believe in God almighty

but have never

known him.

There are people who

believe in luck

but have never

had any.

There are people who

believe in nothing

but have always

had it all.

I don’t know what

or who to believe.

I’m just

make-believing it up

as I go.

9 a.m.

and I’m looking for my glasses

so I can look for my house keys.

I give up

sit before the window

Monday

watching all those below

huzzing to battle

rats with their asses

cut off

trying to

“get stuff done”

whatever that means.

My aunt keeps writing me asking

why I don’t write back

asking

why I don’t come and visit.

What is there to write about?

What is there to visit about?

I don’t get it.

I am ashamed of this world.

Truly, madly, lividly.

This cesspool of phoney desire

clinking change

and daily self-deception.

Most days I sit in bed

sucking on a watermelon rind

waiting for something to happen

something REAL to happen

– a fresh smell of lilac

– a child’s squeal of delight

– a fresh breeze

to waff through the window.

Not happening.

Just the always whine of a lawnmower

churning through the manufactured beauty

of the golf course across the street

the hum

of my mind

and those below going about

their busyness

betraying this world

one second at a time.

I’ve had enough of it all.

I guess I should

get out of the house

go visit my aunt

and apologize for not writing

because

I have nothing good to say

and

if you can’t say something nice

you should just

shut your god damn pen up.

I am having my usual

2 litres in a Victoria Frost cooler

while the 80s playlist

plays down,

Lionel Ritchie, Richard Marx

and all those other sellouts

then

a Cheap Trick rocks on

and

I’m happy

bouncing around the bar

everything is in its place

this most democratic town square

– a bar

of cowboys, lovers, students and mayors

a bar

where we all watch

each other

the whole afternoon

become a little more closer

to who we really all are.

Say you … say me ….

October 21st, 2020. Picoteo, Matagalpa, Nicaragua.

How much longer

can I get away with this?

Scribbling in notebooks

mornings of endless coffees

lost in half worlds of thought

looking out the window

at the security guys

standing 12 hours a day

sucking on cigs and thumbing

their phones.

How much longer

can I get away with this?

Henry Miller sits

framed on my desk

at his desk feet up

getting away with it

him in Santa Monica

me, under the volcano

Antigua, Guatemala.

There’s Brahms

coming out of the speaker

and the keyboard waits

like an obedient dog.

“I’ll get to the work tomorrow”

There’s more thoughts to

attend to

more dancing in my head

and I’m planning

my next novel – how novel!

How much longer

can I get away with this?

Walking through the world

like I own it.

Schleping from kitchen table

to poker table to excel tables

always hungover and

in love with

the mere fact I’m here

that I’m standing

with nothing really to do

except

get away with it.

It’s strange how everywhere

I turn my head

these days

I see only people dying

or shadows of people

about to die.

Each page flip,

each channel change,

each blip on my news feed,

brings a notice

that another has died

meaning,

I’m next.

It’s like when you

finally get the cash together

and drive off the lot

pleased as punch with

your new, shiny red sedan

and by the time you get

the 10 blocks home,

you’ve seen 3 others

just like it.

All you can do …

all you can ever do

is just sit back

and enjoy the ride

because

you ain’t going far.