Month: July 2015

dentistry in Cozad

leaf

i worry.
alot.
intensifying caliber of events
a grimness which rarely materializes.
like dentist appointments and doctors visits.
Or I worry far more than the actual
event warrants.
Pre-living it over and over
until it has worn an anxiety ridden
groove in my already overwhelmed gray matter.

Lanny used to play in a band
Called The Esquires
Or alternately the  Cadillac Cowboys.
They played old country music

behind chicken wire stages
on sawdust floors

Scuffling dancers swung to

“Mac the Knife”
and “yur cheatin Hart”
“Six days on the road”

In Cozad, Nebraska
Over New Years Eve
He would play his hollow body Gibson Guitar
in the shadows
harmonizing with a heavy handed drummer,

And at 2 am wind his way back home through
a hundred miles of blizzard packed interstate.

He worried about New Years Eve
364 days of the year.
It was his first thought in the mornnig and
his last at night.
It ruined his summer sunsets and fall moonrises
because he could only see the sky
through the fog of a smokey bar
on a twenty below night

Sometimes, by  happenstance
at the last moment,
The New Years Eve gig would be cancelled.

Relief would surge through him for an hour
before he began to worry about next year.

so cozad became a verb in the house.
as you can guess, its meaning was to
worry excessively about future events
not quite sure if it may or may not occur.

apply liberally.
we worry about strange pains in our teeth and our feet.
diagnosis ourselves using Webmd.
fuss about upcoming conferences
at altitudes we can not bear.
people we may or may not see
while shopping at a local
gigantomart.
we text each other firmly
“you are cozading”
we know. but we do it any way.

It’s far too easy to travel down a well worn default path.
So I write this for you
those of you who join me,
as I pace in the waiting room
of ______________________    (fill in your choice).

it’s 3 am
my car sliding on ice
New Years Eve revelers
weave and swerve all around.

I’m up. Next

When I Turned Two

We are constantly players in lotteries

whether we know it or not.
Genetics scramble our codes and markers

til we end up winners of
that odd rare disease or other.
Nameless faces in strangers’
Cars swerve oncoming into our lane.
New and improved this millennium,
our personal information,
numbers  to which we cling hover

in turbulent skies

One day, the cloud bursts.
The self, as I believed I was
rains down on another.
And they became me.
Buying us clothes, jewelry, smartphones.
While the Real me shrinks,
a fake me grows.
I visit places I’ve dreamed of ….California, Oregon.
places I’ve nightmared of ….
Endless hours of
phone trees,
foggy voices,
while I beg Fraudulent me to be found.

And blame.
I’m good at blaming myself.
Did I not shred my mail?
Burn my credit applications?
Do I shop too much online?
Turns out I’m a just a good American citizen.
I paid my federal income tax.
That’s when the cloud burst and I turned into
Two.

Luck is a peculiarly random animal.
On a forgotten page,
torn out of history
Abraham Lincoln’s son was saved from certain death
by John Wilkes Booth’s brother
from a runaway train in 1865.
The odd story gives me hope.

I wait awake.
Burning midnight adrenaline oil,
of which I have little reserve.
as I have always
foolishly vigilant against an invisible capricious flood
Listening to coal trains rumble in rain
across the timeless Pawnee Grasslands.
Waiting a return
reading of smoke signals
listening for hooves of pony express.
http://www.cnbc.com/id/102409820
http://mentalfloss.com/article/56482/time-john-wilkes-booths-brother-saved-abe-lincolns-son