It's all over but the screamin'.

I stayed home sick from work today.
An old spark on amiable terms heard this
and took the time to assure me that it was
in fact caused by germs
not karma, despite my personal conviction.
Laughing at the need for such consolation
I scrubbed the toilets in preparation for visitors
and wondered who will win this week's round.

Went to my mother's for some comfort food--
turkey legs and mashed potatoes--
one of my favorites since I was a kid
that she still makes for me from time to time
even though my stepfather hates it.
My mom explained to my grandmother
that I didn't want to kiss her hello
for fear of spreading germs. She responded
by shoving a piece of turkey down my throat
in typical grandma "food heals all" fashion.
The meal went well, I told my mom some
funny stories in between covered coughs
to pass the time as she cleaned up.
As she did the dishes in her big
yellow rubber gloves
she appeared to be Wonder Woman
or some other Superhero, which she still
is and always will be. After all, who else
would a little kid trust to remove splinters?
Who else would this punch-drunk
recalculator still confide in?
She packed some leftovers for me
asking if I was seeing anyone new
as I put my shoes on to leave.
When I shook my head tentatively
she responded to the transparent half-lie
with a jagged statement laden with latent advice:
"Good, you don't have time for women."
She wasn't done exhaling before I countered with
"Yeah, they cut into my drinking time
and get pissed when I ignore them in bed
for books." Pretending to be astounded
as I walked out the door she unsuccessfully hid
a proud laugh; she knew she didn't raise no fool.

Driving home in the still-present evening sun
I decided to call someone I may have
been able to comfort, but failed miserably.
I said something about hoping she was
enjoying the weather, she said it was a bit hard
considering she was at the wake.
And there you had it, the soft damp hum
of final radio silence.
Epic fail, in short.

Later on I was accused of being evasive
and informed that defense mechanisms
cause people to die younger.
"Good," I said, half joking.
"Why would you say that?"
"Because most of my other habits are self-
destructive. Why not be consistent?"
I smiled whatever a shit-eating grin must be
and wondered why people bother talking
to me anymore. After a day of dialogue
like today I might as well donate my
tongue to science, pre-mortem.

But maybe tomorrow when I go to work again
that old mason will be cutting his bricks at
the wet-saw again, whistling that sweet
40s Standard that only a man over sixty
can lull even the most angst-ridden beast
of a plumber with. And the only sound more
comforting than that will be her
quiet
snoring
Friday.



Currently reading:
"The Waste Land and Other Poems" by T.S. Eliot.