I drive home from the casino, having almost broken
even at blackjack, having overeaten at the buffet.
The air conditioning blasts on high and everyone is cold.
All around us the air vibrates with disease.
Someone coughs as the van hurtles through the night.
We have come to the old sign begging us to “Drive Careful!”
and I will. I slow down as the road curves downhill, past
the dangerous crossing, where an open field ends in a pretty pond.
We get out, stand on the little foot bridge.
Lightning bugs plunge toward the water in a fiery dance.
Steve Klepetar lives in the Berkshires in Massachusetts. He is on the editorial board of Right Hand Pointing and Verse-Virtual.
Thursday, February 13, 2025
Wednesday, February 5, 2025
Anne Boleyn - Second wife of Henry VIII (died 5-9-1536) by Richard Weaver
Her last
words
spoken
from
the Tower:
"The
executioner
is,
I
believe,
very
expert,
and
my
neck
is
very
slender."
But not
as slender
as the
blade’s
shining edge.
*From the author's series on the final words of persons of historical note
Richard Weaver continues as the official writer-in-residence at the James Joyce Pub, though he splits time with Hooley’s Public House in San Diego.
words
spoken
from
the Tower:
"The
executioner
is,
I
believe,
very
expert,
and
my
neck
is
very
slender."
But not
as slender
as the
blade’s
shining edge.
*From the author's series on the final words of persons of historical note
Richard Weaver continues as the official writer-in-residence at the James Joyce Pub, though he splits time with Hooley’s Public House in San Diego.
Tuesday, February 4, 2025
Jaroslav Hašek (died 1/3/1923) by Richard Weaver
(The Fate of the Good Soldier Švejk)
The road lengthens. Death never seems near enough.
The wind points its cold finger at me, acknowledging
my existence. But you, my countryman, see me as the Other.
A presence best buried in the marshes. The frozen regions.
The places where no one ever looks. I’m only dying
naturally, and cannot claim to be surprised that Death has
arrived with a poorly printed invitation in hand. If I could read it,
assuming it was legible, I might accept. But for now I choose
to ignore the typography and arrogance. A man can die his way.
No one, not even Death, can dictate otherwise. Our lives are ours.
Therefore, I will die when and where and how I decide. I choose
to die numb. Vodka is good. An easy favorite. The local choice.
Red wine is nice. Symbolically appropriate. But brandy, if handy,
is better than the rest. I will not be denied this death wish. I am
entitled. Military regulations require “one for the road,” and we all
know what that means. I said earlier something about a long road.
It’s shorter now, the road that is, was my life. Humor a good soldier.
“Give me the brandy! No? You are cheating me!”
*From the author's series on the final words of persons of historical note
The road lengthens. Death never seems near enough.
The wind points its cold finger at me, acknowledging
my existence. But you, my countryman, see me as the Other.
A presence best buried in the marshes. The frozen regions.
The places where no one ever looks. I’m only dying
naturally, and cannot claim to be surprised that Death has
arrived with a poorly printed invitation in hand. If I could read it,
assuming it was legible, I might accept. But for now I choose
to ignore the typography and arrogance. A man can die his way.
No one, not even Death, can dictate otherwise. Our lives are ours.
Therefore, I will die when and where and how I decide. I choose
to die numb. Vodka is good. An easy favorite. The local choice.
Red wine is nice. Symbolically appropriate. But brandy, if handy,
is better than the rest. I will not be denied this death wish. I am
entitled. Military regulations require “one for the road,” and we all
know what that means. I said earlier something about a long road.
It’s shorter now, the road that is, was my life. Humor a good soldier.
“Give me the brandy! No? You are cheating me!”
*From the author's series on the final words of persons of historical note
Richard Weaver continues as the official writer-in-residence at the James Joyce Pub, though he splits time with Hooley’s Public House in San Diego.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)