A Fountain in the Middle of the Road.
I can see in front of me a fountain, the large scalloped bowl is held up on the backs of 8 Swans. The mouth of the fountain is a bouquet of Lillies. I grab a few pennies from my pocket and make two wishes. When they come true, I will need to make a pilgrimage back here.
I head for the river and every building has a historical marker. I read about the first synagogue built in 1875, imagine the Jews praying wearing their Kippah's, and their prayers rising like the smoke from smoke offerings. Next door is the first Catholic church and a garden. I unlock the gate and walk in and see a statue of Saint Francis with carefully placed flower petals in his hands. I sit down on a bench donated in the memory of Gail Bronson. I sit and imagine up a life for Gail Bronson and thank her memory for a place to sit. Under some flowering bushes I can make out the faint mewing of a cat. She comes out and rubs against my leg, hops on to my lap and purrs. The Cat, Saint Francis, The memory of Gail Bronson and I hang out for awhile staring the waxing moon.
Walk, I need to walk. I say my goodbyes and walk towards the river. I pass the Slice of Life Pizzeria where we hung out last night for a couple of hours talking to Paige, a tallish, attractive and nerdy college student who was tending bar. I look in to see if she is there but no. Instead a homeless guy is being thrown out. He asks for a handout, telling me how a guy in their had stolen five dollars from him. I tell him I have nothing but a little vodka. "That will do." We walk to the river and share a drink.
David is late 40's looks 60. Blond hair going grey and missing four front teeth. We talk to a couple other homeless guys, Clark has hair like a 50's movie star. They tell me their troubles, the blues of addiction, women, and bad luck, not to mention mental illness. Clark pulls out a bottle of Colt 45 and insists I take the first drink. We talk a little while longer and Clark and the other guy (he wouldn't tell me his name), decide to go look for some food. David finishes off the Colt 45 as I finish off my vodka. We stand looking out at Cape Fear and the battleship U.S.S. North Carolina shrouded in shadows.
David tells me about the woman who kicked him out. "We met drinking on a warm day, she was beautiful and we really hit it off, we got married that day." He shuffles his feet and leans more intently on the railing. "I had to leave right after to go to court and they ended up putting me in jail, when I got out two days later, there she was waiting for me." He looked me straight in the face and said, " That's when I found out she was a man." David starts to laugh a loud hoarse throaty laugh. "Didn't that upset you," I ask him. "A little at first, but I like men too, so it worked out for a few months." He went on telling me how he loved her but she was crazy and tried to kill him a few times. I had to sit there for a moment, this was real life, not some story line from an HBO show. The old cliche reality is stranger than fiction. David says, "Fighting's OK, but trying to kill me? that's where I draw the line." He gets quiet. Looks off at the dark side of the river, stays there for awhile, so I decide to leave him alone there on the other side.
I say good byes to David and look for Paige again, but she isn't there. I walk back the 7 miles talking to Mykul. By the time I get back to the hotel, the time has flown by and I am sober. Tomorrow another day of bullshitting people but no more lies. I am not looking forward to the morning.
Rough Draft Poem
Slice of life pizza
parlor. I find a "Go Navy"
in the gutter to write with.
Where is Paige?
I need to write something down.
Angry homeless man
asks for money but
will take a plug instead.
Bisexual homeless man
wants to cuddle.
NO, sorry.
Two more homeless men
one with movie star hair -
We talk the Blues -
Watch the river like
"The Featured Presentation"
Film river - Opera water.
The river, the river
rolling. The river rolling.
rolling. Rolling the river.
10 miles of walking to here -
Drunk 10 miles.
In the garden of Saint Francis,
flower petals in one hand.
A black cat with one white paw.
I pet her and she purrs
to the waxing moon.
I like how the end of this poem unfolds, haiku-like.
Also, every time I look at yer blog I think NICE photo-- is there a story? It's seriously beautiful.
--J
Posted by: jacqueline Lyons | March 20, 2007 at 05:04 PM