Family binds are no longer hear
the sacristy of boredom is full of foolish story,
that people make into history.
The brilliance of what is to come is not reserved for the hip,
and the family which once drenched laughter with smiles and shared dreams is fractured
overcome by plaster paris, the cooling of cast has yet to be stopped.
Children matter not and neither do the stories of snide mothers
evil harpies who hurl sonic hate for the sake of woe,
perpetuating history in episodes of time…snapshot of terse remedy.
bitterness escapes in nicotine binges + when friendships
become charade-- one liners in drunken stand-up routine
christmas masses as child are distant, relic in nature and form
we'd mend wounds and enter into the sleigh bell slumber of knowing
the new year was around the bend.
The plaster is warm, the fingers mind and the pain is milligram'd within.
The winds of the winter storm greet the face,
as church lets out and the fun of being is stifled by instamatic moments.
Visits thereafter are conjugal cordialities, no sutures only the mend of time hardened and cool
the cast is scribbled upon by friends and well-wishers,
the radio need not wane the batteries have been left out.
but still those who grew with me know and need not ask…
tides race, the river's rise
current not noticeable from the Williamsburgh Bridge
trains trolly-- velocity, held to track not to memory.
doctors visits to Manhattan
poor family members think we made it
we have nothing but instant photographic gratification and a 1:00 appointment
that too is a stilled image,
a cut of plaster @ paris and the fractured limb all gone,
They mate with the old times on the stoop
and I think what could have been
foolish stories take to ink, the way drunkeness takes to fuck-ups and frauds,
friday night after-work was more important than 2 boys and latched key
five dollars fix-its were doled out on thursdays
and the kindness was closeted in hate for being single
she shared the negatives of here experiences with future
Feelings aside, I am still...better,
I smile for I have survived…decades later there
is no cast, no Williamsburgh train rides, and no family.
they tear through dreams and through words at the rate of plaster
slow to dry but long to mend