Into the Evening
By ice rivers
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.
"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.