the poetrysheet
whimsy, subversion, bowling
Number 502, May 28, 2004
55th
anniversary of the Boulevard Drive-In
(Merriam Lane west of
I-35 in Kansas City, KS)
“Note
we see rulers who flourish one day and are destroyed the next without our being
able to see any respect in which they have changed their nature or attributes.
I think the cause of this is, in the first place, the one we have already
discussed at length: A ruler who depends entirely on his good fortune will be
destroyed when his luck changes.”
—Niccolo
Machiavelli, The Prince
The
mistake
All
right. It was just doggies sniffing ass. At least, that’s what I thought.
Better to let them explore the stars a little than to have to put up with all
the wining and complaining that comes with trying to pull the three hounds away
from what they consider one of their pals.
There
we were, all smiles and wagging tails. Muffy or Barney or whatever that woman’s
dog’s name was seemed nice enough. Healthier than most of the dogs in the
neighborhood. Bright eyes and all that. Sniffs, erect heads, etc., etc.
Then,
the woman came rushing through the front door. She was screaming, shrill.
“Git
them dogs offa my yard!”
I
started to laugh a little, mostly out of the absurdity of the situation. The
dogs and I made to leave, but the woman kept yelling.
“You
just take those dogs and move along to wherever you came from.” She was
standing on the top step of her stoop, her hand on the handle of the metal
screen door.
Well,
that kinda pissed me off. I came from this ground. This is the soil from which
I was formed. To have anyone tell me to go back to the place I came from when
I’m standing on it tests my patience.
I
only opened my mouth to say, “We’re on the way.”
But
she was livid. Her eyes were wild. She just kept yelling and screaming. More
vulgarities. I didn’t quite understand. Then she started on the “going back
where you came from” stuff again.
It
all happened so quickly. I had only gone as far as the edge of her yard. I
turned around and faced her and told her firmly, “Lady, you have to improve
your people skills.”
“What?”
“You
need to improve your people skills.”
Her
lips quivered. She seemed to be frightened.
“You
just get on back outta here,” she said.
“I’m
your neighbor, lady,” I said. “I think you ought to look up friendly in the
dictionary.”
I
turned to walk away.
“Well…Well,
you just go to hell,” she said.
I
could handle that. I walked down the street, looking ahead to the curtain of
rain coming in from the northwest. I tried to feel good about having won, about
having made my point. But I realized pretty quick I hadn’t done anything for
neighborly relations, for race relations in my neighborhood, or for a woman who
may have been frightened, hurt, or scarred.
The
rain began. I had the odd feeling I’d been out drinking and just came to—with
all the understandings and regrets that come with it.
Fists of rain made the dogs shake and hesitate. It was then I realized that once you know the ground from which you sprung, no one can take that from you. That’s where I went wrong.
passing storm
when the sun sneaks in
under a thunderstorm
color stands against
storm and light, sapphire and emerald
hurtful
flowers and grass, soil
labor of hands
rust and wet dogs
air electric, tingles skin
spiderwebs on noses
across eyelashes
down the porch swings
sighs and deep breaths
tensions eased
more to come
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