Fact, Fiction, and Blatant Lies

previous - next - old - new�





Cover of book



Streetshore Creative






05 May 2003 - 11:47 a.m.

Books are arranged neatly in a stack and kept in a rectangular duffle bag that looks like it was custom-built to fit the books. Or maybe, the books were sized to fit the duffle-bag. There are CDs too, organized like a crystal staircase on a small round table kept company by a few pens and a cup of coffee.

The poet sits in the middle. He signs his name on the title pages of some of the books, as appreciative fans deal him dollar bills in exchange.

He performed his poetry to cheers and gasps just a few minutes ago, but now he squirms uncomfortably, imagining his poems are hamburger patties and each Hamilton-decorated bill is a spatula. He fights back the urge to say, "would you like fries with that" as he inscribes his signature inside the covers.

His last tired dedications are etched with phrases like, "thank you for listening," and "best wishes" -- unsatisfying, on-the-spot inprovisations from a proud editor, when what he really wants to write is, "don't make me do this any more."

He imagines each word wasted, one drop after another from the leak in his lifetime-allottment of words that could be better put to use for a laugh, or a tear. Then he remembers the long ride he took to get to this poetry reading, the exits, the daffodils in the median strips, the trees. And he remembers that the books and the CDs are not for him. Sure, he agonized over them, rewriting and correcting, but the books are for other hands, other ears. "These are just my footprints," he thinks, "evidence of my existence. Then he pauses,"no, not footprints, but cave-paintings. Not evidence of my footsteps, but proof of my brain and my heart."

He inscribes the final book with a smiley-face -- two circles, two dots and a curved line. He hands it back to the young woman who bought it and says, "no words were harmed during the signing of this book." She giggles at his lop-sided drawing and thanks him.

Later, at home, his wife asks him if he sold any books. He modestly says, "yeah, a few", then he thinks back to the end of his performance, and says, "but you should have heard the audience cheer."

(4) Comments?


previous - next - old - new�


pg13

What rating is your journal?

brought to you by Quizilla