Otis

The kid in the corner is from Saint Marks
The blue shirt, the plaid pants
The drink in his hand

You can go talk to him
If you want

But he's going to be gone by Monday

His Mom's sick
He's only here
To say his good-byes

He'll be on a plane back
To the life he prefers
As soon as the last potato chip
Is taken from the happy red plastic
Funeral bowls
His sister will put on the table

Go ahead though
Give it a shot
Try to say hi
And throw some personality at him
See what sticks

He might be interested long enough
To give you a kiss
Or you might end up seeing dotted lines
And air
He's so quick
He moves like the Flash

But then again,
We're all superheroes now
We just share the same powers

He's from Saint Marks
The party's in Crenshaw
And Otis is from New York

Funny to think
Where you'll be
In six hours

White deep vee
Baggy jeans
Converse sneaks
Dancing on sticky floors
In a club you didn't know about
That won't be there tomorrow

The police determine
When the party ends
And the diners wait
Like hungry sharks
For kids on drugs
To come get their scrambled eggs

Wasn't I just at my mother's funeral?

Whoa, whoa

Hold up, Otis

We're not doing first person

First person narrative
Is a mirror
You can't handle
Looking into

Let's keep some distance
From this non-linear
Line of thought

Anyway, six hours ago
You were on a bus
Twelve hours ago
You were at the funeral
A day ago
You were at the bar
You went to in college
Hoping that by some miracle
It's now busy there on Monday nights
Even though it never was
Never will be
Isn't then
But
Yes, maybe a miracle
There was the boy
Plaid pants, blue shirt
Sending out waves of 'Yes, sir, I am'
But also depicting 'You might be wrong'
So you waver on whether
To ask him--

Ask him what?

For a number you're never going to call?
For a dance in an empty bar?
For one night where a mistake
Feels like a warm blanket
And does he mind sneaking in through a window
Or does he have his own place
And can you go there
And do you want to hear about his sick Mom and--

Wait

Wait

Are you confused?

I'm confused Otis who are you--?

Oh

He's not there

He's you

The bar

It's empty

Really empty

No cute boy in the corner

And you're the one with drink
In your hand

Who else would wear plaid pants
To a dive bar?

How sick is it that you've turned yourself
Into your dream boy?

I mean what kind of--

...You know what?

Never mind

This shouldn't take much longer

This isn't an epic poem, Otis

It's just a morality play
About who you are
And where you're from
And who you'd like to be
And how there's no place on this earth
That can supply you
With an identity

Fifteen years ago
You got on a bus
And it wasn't to New York, was it?

Narrators know things, Otis
You can fool everybody but a Narrator

I have
Information
At my
Disposal

What was in that drink at the bar?
Geez, no wonder you're looking in a mirror
And seeing double

Your expectations are so low
Even you're looking good
To you

The bus took you to where--
Should I tell them?

The reader
The listener
The audience
The voyeur
The spy

I'll leave it alone
Nobody likes a prequel anyway

Let's stick to the event at hand

Drunk in a bar
Then twenty-four hours later
Drunk in another bar
But this time the bar's full
And you're happy
Happy to be around people
Drinking in their good energy
Taking your deep vee off
Unbuttoning your pants
Ready to get naked
If that's what it takes
To be wholly immersed
In this atomic Wonderland
Of sweat, breath, and body

The eggs are salty
And that's the next sensation you remember
The salt of the eggs
And the salt on your lip
When you brought the glass
Of whatever it was you were drinking
At that dive bar
To your mouth

You envision going outside
Into the snow
And tunneling
All the way to the mall
Miles away
Where you'll have the run of the place
The food court
The arcade
The home decor store
Where you can sit at a nice kitchen table
The kind you see in country homes in movies
Because you've never actually been inside a country home

You'll drink hot chocolate
From the food court
And be lulled to sleep
By the silence of stainless steel pots
In the home decor store
At the giant wooden table
In an empty mall
In the dead of night
In a city you used to live in

Used to live in...

Used to live...

Used to...

You're on a bus

Wait, I thought we weren't doing this?

Okay, but just a second

You're on a bus

I'm on a bus

No, you're on a bus

I'm just looking at you
On a bus

Next to a boy
In plaid--

No, you're on a bus
With people
But no boy

And your phone is ringing
And it's your Mom
She's been calling
And calling
And calling

And you don't answer
You don't want to answer
But you don't turn the phone off either
Because you want to see
How long it will be
Until she stops calling

How many phone calls
Until a mother
Walks away from her son?

And whenever the phone stops ringing
That's when you'll get off

Pittsburgh

It stops ringing in Pittsburgh

You get off

That was a few years ago

What happened in Pittsburgh?

It doesn't matter

Nothing happened
And everything happened
And that is the story
Of just about every life
On this planet, Otis

Nothing is special about you
You are not special
I am not special
You are not me
And I am not you
And Otis is from New York

And there is no was no Otis
Before New York
Before now
Before dancing at a club
On Chipparoe Street
Next to a diner
That swims like a shark

Why do you keep checking your phone?
Nobody's calling now

...I'm sorry...

Was that a mean thing to say?

...Well...

You escaped by the skin
And not of your teeth either

You were the proverbial band-aid
Ripped off the memory
Of so many people

Family, friends, boys in bars
Who actually existed

One day you were here
And one day you were gone
And now you're back
And nobody even knows
Because you did not alert the media
And you did not ring the church bells
And kids these days
Don't read the obits
The way their parents do

Besides, how many of those boys
Would know what your last name is anyway?

So a woman's picture sits in a newspaper
Saying she's survived by a son
If you really want to call it surviving
And a page is turned
And a woman disappears
Just like everyone else
Just like you will one day

So get back on a bus

The Wonderland's waiting

You know what happens in twenty-four hours
You know where you'll be
And what you have
To look forward to
So do it

Go ahead

Go ahead, Otis

Don't veer from the story
I can only help you
As long as you stick to the narrative
As soon as you jump ship
You run the risk
Of ending up
In my recycling bin

My interest in you is based solely
On how much I can depend on you
To bore me

You got that, Otis?

Do you
Under
Stand?

You're on a bus
There's New York
There's behind you
There's Pittsburgh
There's no suitcase
There's no phone ringing
There's no plan
There's nothing

There
Is
Nothing

Nothing but what's happened
And what can

You're from Saint Marks, Otis

I remember you

Do you?

Do you?

Do you?

Do You Believe They Keep the Lights On?

Sort of started
Walking down the street
Twice and ten

And I broke down on Filmount
Didn't meant to
Didn't think it'd happen so soon

I brace myself for hurricanes
And then a breeze knocks me over

Do you believe
They keep the lights on?

I thought they'd turn them off

I thought everybody would go inside
And sleep or stay quiet
And the cars would stay parked
And the dogs would lay down
And the stores would be shut up
Until who knew when?

I walked and saw lights on
In the pizza place
On Filmount

And that was
All it took

The cars drive
The dogs run
The stores put out displays
And sales
And bright fresh signs
That signal it's time
To come in and buy
And...

And what am I?

Standing in the center
Of a still-moving world
Locked up
Inside my own mind

I've become my own prison
And grief is just the lock on the door

Everybody else has started
To let themselves out
And away

They're forgiving themselves
Isn't that nice?

And here I am

On Filmount, starving
And wanting to throw up
At the same time

Crying and frigid
Unfeeling and overwhelmed
Desperate and carefree

How on earth could you take me now?
And what could you take me for?

You'd be so disappointed
In me

But I thought I wouldn't be alone in this
I thought the stars would flicker and fall
And the clouds would break apart
And it'd be like the North Pole
Six months, no light

Instead it's Main Street
And it's bright
And it's Friday
And people are glad
They're happy
They're having a good time

And I can't wrap my head around it
Around any of it

Do you believe they keep the lights on?

I can't

I can't believe any of it
Anymore

Seven Scarecrows

Twice 'round a year
You start to hear 'em

They give you less and less time
Between each showing

It was five years ago
The first time you heard the rustle

Rustle, rustle, rustle
Like water trying to break through dirt
But can't

Sit up in bed
But stop your hand
Before the lamp goes on

You never want to turn on a light
Until you know whether or not
You're better off in the dark

Look out the window
What do you see?

Seven scarecrows
--And that ain't good

Seven scarecrows means Daddy's coming back to town
Probably be here by mornin'
So you know what to do

Get out of bed
Quiet, quiet
He may not be here yet
But now's not the time to go makin' noise

Those scarecrows aren't there for nothin'
They're keepin' an eye on you
Until Daddy gets here

Wake up Mama
Wake up Tad
Wake up Vicki

Follow the plan
The plan is there for a reason
We stick to the plan

Vicki's job is to go to the garage and get the basket
She is not allowed to touch anything in the basket
She shouldn't even be looking in the basket but she will
And it doesn't matter anyway
Because she knows damn well what's in there

Mama packs, and packs fast
Enough clothes, enough food
Enough and only enough
Mama's good at this anyway

Your job is simple
Make sure Mama and Vicki do their job
Because once they're done
Then you have to do
What you have to do

Take the gasoline out of the basket
Mama and Vicki are already in the car
And it's idling

You look out the window
The scarecrows seem closer now
Like they're crawling towards you
When you're not looking

That's not true
The scarecrows have never hurt you directly
But one time you didn't run fast enough
And Daddy showed up
And before you could do anything
That nice man Mama was seeing
Got thrown out into the road

Before that there were only six scarecrows
And then there were seven
And the seventh one was wearing the same clothes Mama's friend had on
When he went out into the street

You try not to think too much about that
Or about the scar on your arm or the one the back of your neck
Or how Vicki still walks with a little bit of a limp
Or Mama with her bad eye

You don't think about anything
But the plan

The kitchen gets it first
Then the living room, the bedrooms
The closets, countertops
And when everything's covered
The gas can goes in the bathtub

Take a few steps outside the house
Light a match
Toss it inside

It'll land right in that puddle in front of the tv
And that'll be the end of it

The immediate heat wakes you up
And you realize
You'd been sort of sleepwalking this whole time

You get in the car
Vicki puts her head down on your lap
Mama pulls out

'In three more years, you'll be driving' Mama tells you
And you can hear in her voice
That she's looking forward to giving you
One more responsibility
That should be hers

As you pull away from the house
You look at another neighborhood
You won't be coming back to

Just like all the others
And all the other times
You look in the backyard
Where the scarecrows were
And there's nothing there

No room to hold that many scarecrows anyway
But you swear you saw them

The same way you swear you saw them that first time
When you still had a farm to call home
And Daddy was out in the fields
Crying and wailing
Until there wasn't anything but cold silence
And Mama came walking out of the corn
Holding an axe
Blood on her face
And pointing the axe at you she said--

'Go get the gas can before your Daddy gets back'

And now it burns
Now it all burns
And you're free to sleep
Until the car stops
And somebody
Wakes you up

Dead Queen Greta's Charming Tour

In Bulgaria, they did not care
That she was dead

She was very upfront about it

If anyone had asked her--Are you living?

Queen Greta, also known as Greta the Always Honest
Would have replied--No, I'm afraid I'm not

Greta was known for many things

In addition to always being honest
She was also known as Greta the Trustworthy
Greta the Pretty But Not Too Pretty
Greta the Unoffensively Humorous

And lastly, but most importantly
Greta the Charming

So when her country was experiencing
A dreadful public relations problem
Due to a prime minister
Who was not trustworthy
Or pretty or handsome
And funny only in an offensive way
And definitely--DEFINITELY--not charming

Greta, always conscientious,
And, quite frankly, sick of retirement
Even if it was self-imposed
By her own demise,
Decided it was her patriotic duty
To try and improve her country's standing
With the rest of the world
By going on what would become known as
Dead Queen Greta's Charming Tour
No emphasis on the 'Dead,' of course

Her former subjects were thrilled that she was back
Even as a mere figurehead instead of an actual ruler

They weren't the least bit surprised
That she had returned
For if ever a person would relinquish dead
And get back to work
For the good of her country
It would be Queen Greta

The prime minister, however, was not so thrilled
As he had already been unfavorably compared to Greta for years
And only found solace in the fact that she was long gone
Now that she was back
Comparisons were even easier to make
And his flaws seemed even more glaring

But Greta only stayed in her only country briefly
Before setting out on her world tour

She did do a photo op with the prime minister
And assured him (under her breath)
That she had no intention of reclaiming her throne

She simply wanted to do her part
And then she'd go back to being just a portrait
In the royal museum

So with a reluctant blessing
From a reluctant prime minister
And the kisses and roses
Of her living subjects
Queen Greta set out to bring glory back
To her beloved nation

Her first stop was, of course, France
Where the people cheered and cried
Upon seeing her

Nobody remembered her, of course
Because she had been dead for years and years
But they had heard stories of her kindness and generosity
And they welcomed her with open arms
And loving compliments
Shouted from the streets of Paris

She was met with equal parts admiration and affection
In other countries as well
--Germany, China, Egypt, Sweden

In Chile, there was a concert organized in her honor
In Greenland, they unveiled an ice sculpture modeled after her
In Turkey, she traveled all over the country
And was given babies to hold
And sicknesses to cure
And soon she began to wonder if they saw her
As some sort of Jesus figure
Simply because she had chosen
Not to remain dead
For the time being

Everywhere she went, she found nothing but gracious hosts
And thousands of people waiting to welcome her
All of them proclaiming that there has never been a leader
As good as she was
And there never would be again

Queen Greta had to admit to herself that she was starting to feel
Not-so-forthcoming for a monarch who was once labeled
Queen Greta the Forthcoming
By roving bands of marauders, no less

After all, who could dispute what was being said about her?
Her enemies and opponents
--And yes, she had enemies and opponents
What ruler didn't?--
All of them were dead
And had been dead for decades
Just as she had been

Was it fair of her to accept all this praise
Without criticism to match it?

For her, the tour was a success
But for her country, the results were mixed

Despite her best efforts, she was still a relic of the past
An item of nostalgia
And her country was a very present thing
And present things were very often unpopular

So after her last stop in Bulgaria
She found herself sitting alone
At a train station
Wondering what to do next

She didn't look forward to dying again
And she couldn't simply go back to being dead
One did have to re-die if he or she expected
To rejoin a state of expiration

As she sat at on a bench at the station
Contemplating whether or not she should be a cliche
And simply throw herself onto the tracks
A little boy came up and sat next to her

--You're very pretty, he said
--Why, aren't you sweet, she replied

She usually carried candy of some sort on her at all times
So that when she met children
She could give them a treat
But she'd given away all her sweets in Spain
Where the children all seemed to mouths full of sweet teeth

--Are you somebody, the little boy asked
--Yes, I--

But she stopped herself
Took a moment
And then said--

--Well, I used to be

She thought of her prime minister
And how hard it must be for him
To compete with a legend
Instead of just a person

Somebody who could never really be tarnished
Who would always enjoy the sunshine of the past
And the positive glow of forgetfulness

I should send him a card, she thought to herself
But what would it say?

She sat with the little boy for a bit longer
Until his mother called to him
And then they had to board a train
Back to their farm in the country

Queen Greta wished them safe and happy travels

--You too, said the little boy

Greta smiled and thought about where her next stop would be

Now that she was a person of the world again
Life suddenly seemed like something
That, like many things
Looked much better
From the other side

The Caveman and The Comet

The next time this comet runs towards us
It'll be eight thousand years from now
And our children's children
Will be but memories
Of dust and wind

That's if it doesn't hit us this time
Which it might

Everyone sleeps
Because we sleep
Because being awake makes us nervous
And although slumber is difficult
We tell ourselves stories
And run and jump
And tire ourselves out

That is why you see piles of resting people
Spread out all over the land

Some tried to shelter themselves
Hiding in caves
Digging holes
Some just started walking towards...

Well, towards who knows what

Me, I just sit here
Legs crossed
Arms out
Looking up

Part of me hopes the comet will come down
Right on top of me
And that'll be it

No fires, no big waves from the water
Nothing but a blinding light
And then silence

I don't know what comes after
Because I have no idea what came before
And because what came before doesn't frighten me
Because, you see, it's already happened
I see it as a sign
That I am not meant to fear what's to come
For one day it will be behind me

And when there is nothing left to put behind me
I will have completed my journey
And that is something to be proud of

Others have familes, children
And they are concerned
And I understand

I would want my children to live forever
Long past me
Long past their own grandchildren
Who I will never meet

I would like to think of them as immortal
But they are not
The same way I am not

I kissed them on their heads
As they lay next to their mother
And I told them everything would be all right
Knowing very well it might not be

When my first child was born
My own father was his deathbed
And when I asked him what advice he had for me
About being a parent
He only spoke two words:

'Stay Calm'

I asked him what you do when you can't stay calm
And he said one word:

'Lie'

And then he died

You'd be amazed how far that advice has taken me

My children are asleep
Because Dad didn't seem to be too nervous

My wife knows better
She's got her eyes closed
But I can tell her she's awake
And trying not to cry

I leaned over to kiss her before I came to sit out here
And I whispered to her
Something I won't repeat her
Because some things should stay
Between a husband and his wife

As I sit and wait
An animal makes its way over to me
And begins to press its face
Against my leg

They won't have these animals on Earth
Eight thousand years from now
But they'll have something similar
Although much friendlier

These creatures are normally not fond of us, the humans
But this one seems to want a truce

I suppose no living thing
Can stand being on its own
For very long
Especially when death
Is approaching

Animals disappear when we wound them
During the hunt
They like to die in peace
But the world feels softer
Now that it may be ending
And somehow colder
And everyone is seeking heat
Of some kind or another

I gather up the animal in my arms
And it does not resist me

We sit together
Two breathing organisms
That cannot understand each other
And yet know exactly
What the other is thinking

It is then that I look around
And realize all those piles of people
My friends and neighbors
Have started to slowly move towards each other
Into one big pile

Those who were hidden have come out
And huddled up against those were not hidden
And families have put their arms around each other
Even while asleep

Many years from now
They will talk about how this way of life
Was brought to an end

By a comet
And its consequences

But they will not talk about this
Because they will not know

How there was a prevailing over nature
Because, even at its most beautiful
Nature is, in its essence
Cold and unfeeling

It does not live, it occurs
It attacks
It is to be dealt with

And our victory over it
Is this moment
Of warmth
And community
And kindness

One day they will say we were barbarians
That we were simple and ignorant
That we had no culture
No creativity
No beautiful words

But I wonder...

If the comet misses us
Only to eight thousands years from now
What will people do then?

Will they come out of their houses
Houses much bigger than ours
Will they lay down on the ground or the grass
Or in the dirt

Will they all cling to each other
Desperately to each other
The way we are now?

Or will they choose to die alone
And stay with that choice
Believing in it
To the very end of their existence?

Who can say?

I only know one thing for certain
In this moment
Of great uncertainty

And that is what my last thought will be
If it is my last thought

My last thought will be--

My goodness

What a beautiful night