Into the Evening

I was fortunate enough to score a moonlight interview with Dr. Darlene Carr. Dr. Carr has achieved notoriety for her well publicized theory of death. Dr. Carr believes that when a patient walks into her office, she visualizes that patient as a cadaver and she is doing an autopsy to determine the cause of death. Once the cause of death is determined, Dr. Carr prescribes methodology to confront the cause and battle fate as long as possible. Dr. Carr regards life as a tragedy therefore a fatal flaw is responsible for all deaths.  Her father died because he chain smoked. Her mother died because her husband chain smoked and she promoted it by permitting it.

Life is a futile battle against what she calls "the flaw". The "flaw" will always win in the end but the battle against the flaw determines the quality of our lives. Dr. Carr prides herself on identifying flaws quickly almost upon first impression.

While sitting on rockers on her front porch under a Southern moonrise, after tasting some excellent bourbon....I asked the doctor (in the name of journalism) if she could identify my "flaw".

She said that she had already determined my fatal flaw but didn't want to share it unless I asked.

I asked.

"Incapability" she answered.

Taken back, I asked...."And the remedy?"

"Escapability" she replied with a gentle smile. "Go write your story".

The cue was obvious. I thanked Dr. Carr for her time.

I escaped into the evening.

I got home and wrote this pome.

Monkeys chattering in my brain

Minimize the gain of pain

While I form a Congo line

Of I , me, myself and mine

And we sit as one for our group shot

Trying to remember what fortune forgot.

We pose with tilt and smile

Recoiling for a little while

Looking into the user friendly lens

The merciless mirror where distortion ends

And realize we're back again

Jack Daniels in the lion den.

With a twist of hocus pocus

We manuever myself into focus

Depress the shutter

Utter a mutter

As we cough

Precision wanders off.

Another blur produced.

We wonder "what's the use"

We know it's getting awful late

For any youthful self-portrait.

We steady our grip

We let "er rip.

The one man horde

Always going forward

Lives another day

A hunger artist without the hay

Who longs to feed again

Further down the bend

Heading towards humbling dawn

Because the forget me nots are gone.

Lookin' one last time around

Findin' the circus still in town.