‘we cry for Selby. She try escape. Mister whipped her bad. I kant watch. She scream. Plese god, sav us all.”
In the Savanah Historical Society
On a long, polished table
I wear thin white gloves
Await a rare slave’s journal, 175 years old
The librarian opens the worn, brown book
Her white gloves gently turn pages
“Handle the pages gently, They are brittle.”
Misspelled words in pencil
“he order me clen horse stals. Hot. Itch. Swet. Sor back. No rest. Col water feel good. Sleep come fast.”
My white gloves tenderly held the slaves’ journal
My journals have little chance of ending up in a historical collection
I’m not black, wasn’t bought and sold, not tortured, subjected to inhuman conditions, and got an education
The boys gathered near home plate
For a pickup softball game
One captain tossed a bat to the other
They took turns palming their way up
Whoever grasps the top chooses first
I stood by waiting to be chosen
One after another shuffled behind their captain
With each pick, I’m more worried
What about me?
Finally, I’m the only one left
At least I’ll play
During college breaks
Knowing a lot of politicians
My mother always found me a job
I filled in for regular workers
Who took time off for vacations
At the US. Rubber Reclaiming Plant
A blue collar factory job
Worn rubber tires have a second chance
To become car mats, mud flaps, wiper blades
I got a punch card
Was assigned to Eric
A former boxer whose face
Had been rearranged
As well as some brain tissue
Crusin the skin of this apple
Earth’s thin biosphere
Sucking up my exhaust,
On this interconnected internet superhighway
Bridges over and under
Big, rectangular signs – exit 58 – Shirley
Pull up short on 110 – gridlock in Huntington
On the LIE samo samo – imprisonment
Accident – turn off ignition
Too damn many people
But not me – the other guy
I’m looking for cruise control
Clear lane ahead of me, freedom let me go baby
Pedal to metal – I’m blasting, rocking the odo meter
Gotta get out of here
Gotta go go go
Gotta get there, get there
Dude, I’m crusin
Crusin Sunrise Highway
Free as a bird, like a plankton drifting
I’m in the drivers’ seat, got the power baby
Looking for gas
Fill er up – regular
Looking in the rear view mirror
Don’t want no accident
White dashes ticking by
Doing 70 , smooth and fast
This little Honda Civic – my therapist
Strip malls blur by
Pizza, nails, deli, bagels,
No plan – going nowhere
Crusin like my family did back in the 40’s for those Sunday drives
Drive-in banks, drive- in coffee, drive in fast, gotta be fast
Making good time, going down the highway
Playing the radio, rolling down the windows
Checking the dashboard
Seeing the scenery
Checking out the towns
Flip on the lights, wipers, high beams
Rollin, always rollin
Stop, get out, need a stretch
Back in the car
Slam the door
Turn on the ignition – that satisfying roar
I’m crusin baby
Look at these two magnificent legs
Long, muscular quads for long walks
My legs say.“Wear short shorts to show us off”
And I do
The looks they get…
Women glance and try not to be seen looking
It’s my grandfathers’ tall gene
I don’t ever take my fabulous legs for grant it
Even while I sleep my legs try to wake me…
“Come on Tom, let’s get going.”
They excel in yoga class, especially the Warrior pose
Only once did they fail
Uphill bike outing, a mile up steep incline.
Charley horse in both, muscles in lockdown
Dehydrated – drank lots of water
Massaged them
They’re back
When you have legs like mine
You should use them big time
Was your yoga too intense?
Are your muscles in suspense?
Those stretches hurt your back?
It’s time for an ice pack
Painful twists overdone?
Back got pain? That’s no fun.
Can’t bend to tie your shoes?
It’s time to have a snooze.
YOU’VE GOT THE SACRO, SACRO-ILLIAC BLUES
Looking for some healthy gains
Maybe it’s time to ease those pains
You’ve had a awfully strong attack
To your sacroiliac
Need a massage and need it quick?
See the yellow pages to take your pick.
On the table, on your tummy
Her strong fingers may feel funny.
YOU’VE GOT THE SACRO-, SACRO,- ILIAC BLUES
Moral of this story: don’t work so hard
Don’t want muscles to turn to lard
Don’t go bending when you shouldn’t
Might end up saying “I just couldn’t.”
Is it time to take a break?
Rest your back for goodness sake
Maybe in that yoga class
You might end up on your ass
YOU’VE GOT THE SACRO SACRO ILIAC BLUES
I’m doin fifty eight in the slow lane
With a 70’s right on my ass
I stay the course
Speedometer steady
Under the speed limit by 2mph
And mister eighty mph
Streaks past on my left
Weaves in and weaves out
I see him blur by
Right at the edge of death
Pushing, always pushing
Get outta my way you asshole
You son of a bitch
in my little crushed tin can Honda civic
Competing with big ass trucks
And vans the size of Walmarts
I’m paying attention, I’m scared
I got both hands on the wheel
ITS ROAD RAGE DITTY DO DA
Rear view mirror – red flashing lights
This is a holy cow moment
A big boxy EMS truck
Sirens me into panic
Comes up with its dancing yellow lights
Showering me with emergency
Its road rage ditty do da
It’s hot baby
Where’s a side street?
Where’s an exit ramp
No solf shoulder, it’m stuck
Take it take it
Little ole me in my little death trap
Knees against the steering wheel
Seat all the way back
There’s another one, right on my tail
“Where’you going so fast and all that?
Chill, cool down, slow yourself”
Three feet from my bumper
Not what I learned in driving school
Car length for every ten mph
I’m hanging back at 38 MPH
I can tell she’s late for work,
I’m in her way. She’s thinking what?
She blasts horn, shouts out her window
“Get the fulk out of da way!”
Her monster SUV is doing the talking
it’s the journey, not the destination
I am lost in a chaos of speeding metal
Of plastic, and rubber, and noise
Trapped in the center lane
A form of solitary confinement
On this s u p e r h i g h w a y of insane
ROAD RAGE DITTY DO DA
Cars this way, every which way,
Over me, under me, left and right
And little ole me
It’s a DITTY DA DA ROAD RAGE world
All stressed out and scared and stuff
Me, all retired and slow
Just trying to be defensive
Don’t want no accident
It’s a full course press out here
And it’s coming from everywhere
Why does everybody hate me?
I just want to go home
Is that so wrong?
NO MORE ROAD RAGE DITTY DO DA
One by one, scales of the Great Fish fall off
The fish is losing its identity, slime, fins
Although the fish breaths, it gasps
Its bay-gills clogged
Gathering silt and invisible wastes
From the creeks, rivers, canals that lead inward
Oil, plastics, sewage, nitrogen
Float into the gills of the Great Fish
Clams and oysters suck it in
Scallops too
The Great Fish slowly chokes
Its flesh has been bought and bartered
Sold and developed
Yearly growth lines obscured by lawns, lots, malls
All manner of manicure rests upon these scales
Patches have become developments
Sampawams Creek hidden behind houses
Multitudes have stripped the Great Fish of its health
At the window, a crowd gathers to look at puppies / As onlookers gather, a child taps the glass / white, fluffy, panting dogs, with tail wags so strong their bodies wag / jump up paws on glass, wiggling, falling, rolling over take me take me yapping, play -fighting, biting, resting a dozen little pets waiting for a home wanting your attention, curious, playful, little pink tongues someone says “Aren’t they cute.” / Again “Look at that one over in the corner. Isn’t he cute.” Oh come on, we should get a puppy. NO her husband answers quickly / look at them that one over there it’s so cute / more tapping, puppies paw the window. A couple exits the store holding a very cute puppy. / someone in the crowd asks What’s his name? What kind is that? / So adorable, so cuddly, so precious / the crowd adores the puppy / a moment later a stream of urine exits the puppy / Oh my God it’s peeing on my jacket. / She thrusts the puppy into the arms of her husband /. Take it back / I changed my mind./ laughter from the thinning crowd – muted giggling – not that much compassion / the bystanders have left / the peeing puppy returned / all the puppies continue to play/ life goes on
Let’s play on her sand pile
Walk her sculpted beaches
Her steep north shore bluffs
Book-ended by Sound and outwashed farmland
She’s full of seductive allurement
Her grottos of green, forested parkland
Her places to walk away stress
She’s tall – the way I like a woman
Stood up, over a hundred miles end to end
With hair mussed by nor’easters off Montauk
Stiff breezes at Orient
She has eyes for me – those bedroom eyes
Her Pine Barren textures of scraggy bark, puffy moss clumps
Her creeks and rivers flowing lazy to the bay
Tides ebb and flow on her inner marshes
Let’s walk her barrier island of dunes and swash
Be struck by her glamour – sunrise and sunset
Her farm fields and roadside vegetable stands
Her spring, summer, fall, winter
Her tall grasses bending in northwesterly breezes
She calls me to trespass all over her
Everything from top to toe
Sand spit to kettle pond
She may be flat-chested
But oh how she makes up for that
With her long, shapely legs, sexy ankles
Gorgeous neck, a face to die for
Her towering, north shore tulip forests
Her lady slipper orchids
Her green sod fields that stretch to the horizon
Her quartz and basalt pebbled north shore beaches
Her sandy, soft skin
Her shells and dappled trails
I just want to hug and caress her
Walk forever with her
Into elegant secret places
Drawn more and more and more
By her ravishing, stunning, I can’t take my eyes off
Our beautiful Island of Long.