Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Twelve)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

Linn Speck had always been an insider at Evergreen Estates. Someone who was part of the herd, intellectually aligned with other residents, and socially connected because of his gracious wife, Haki. He still had a Trump campaign sign standing in his front yard. And regularly attended services at their township’s Church of the Lord Jesus in Heaven. In addition, he had much experience with organizing groups and activities, from time spent serving in the National Guard. He had never been tagged as a contrarian figure by anyone. Except perhaps the drunken loner who once lived on his street, at Lot 13. So, he felt comfortable being at the rural development. It was a community that perfectly reflected his own view of right and wrong.

 

Yet curiosity about the suspicious fire that had expelled his nemesis aroused a measure of uncertainty that he had never faced, before. After being released by Sheriff Rath, and returning home to the trailer enclave, he found himself isolated in a bubble of shame. Friends who once shared his concrete-block fire pit, and coolers full of macro brews, now stayed away. No one called on the telephone, or contacted him via the internet. He was shunned in a manner that seemed completely inappropriate for someone with such a good reputation.

 

Meanwhile, any mention of T. C. Lincoln now evoked an odd form of sympathy for the reclusive hermit. Though he had never been popular in their group, and had the combative disposition of a mountain goat, his exit from the junkyard oasis left a lingering hint of empathy in its wake. Despite being hard-headed and grouchy, the shaggy loner had never actually harmed anyone. Indeed, he generally avoided interacting with others, face-to-face. His presence outdoors, throughout the year, represented a puzzling spectacle for those who passed by his singlewide abode. But did not represent a threat of any kind. He stayed quiet, and inebriated, as a matter of course. Off the beaten path, by choice.

 

Linn decided that having a fall party would help to revive his standing at the distant venue. But after distributing fliers around the property, and filling his storage barn with drinks and snacks, he sat alone in the side yard. Classic Rock echoed from a boom box in his kitchen window, as he waited, anxiously. But there were no visitors arriving. Finally, Darby Stronelli appeared, with her spiky hair tipped in frost, and a Carhartt jacket to compensate for the seasonal chill. She had tucked bottles of Bud Light in her oversized pockets. Along with a bag of Goldfish crackers.

 

“Hey buddy! Am I the only one who came over today? Shit, that is crazy! This damn dump is no fun anymore! I think everybody must be burned out! Like that shitty shack up the street, you know?”

 

Her neighbor on the corner nodded with embarrassment, while chewing on a pretzel.

 

“That’s a poor choice of words, lady! I don’t want to hear anything about a fire!”

 

His counterpart giggled and pinched her nose.

 

“Sorry dude, I didn’t mean to get your ass upset! And I didn’t! Maybe this park is just getting tired, I don’t know. We used to party all night. I can’t keep up with the kids. We don’t even play beer pong anymore! That really sucks!”

 

Linn stroked his jowls, to wipe away the crumbs.

 

“Look, you get along with everybody. That’s why you’re here by yourself, probably. So tell me, what’s the scuttlebutt out there? What’s grinding out of the rumor mill? Why am I all of a sudden, a pariah in this neck of the woods?”

 

Darby rolled her eyes and whistled.

 

“A what? Is that the name of a singer?”

 

Her associate cleared his throat and winced.

 

“NOT MARIAH! I SAID PARIAH! YOU KNOW, AN OUTCAST! SOMEBODY THAT NOBODY LIKES!”

 

The mannish femme shrugged and continued sipping her beverage.

 

“Yeah, okay. Whatever, buddy! Don’t ask me what happened, ‘cause I don’t know nothing. I never paid that much attention to Link, but he has been next door to me for a long damn time. I kinda hated to see his house get fried! But you know, he had lots of junk in there. It was a trash pit. I remembered that his legs were shot, so I always gave him a pass. I think just getting out to his porch was a struggle...”

 

The former residential organizer sputtered with irritation.

 

“SEE, THAT’S IT RIGHT THERE! YOU FEEL SORRY FOR THE OLD SON-OF-A-BITCH! AND HE DOESN’T DESERVE YOUR SYMPATHY! THAT’S WHAT I DON’T UNDERSTAND! ALL THESE PEOPLE IN OUR COMMUNITY ARE GETTING SOFT! THEY’VE GOT NO BACKBONE ANYMORE! IT MAKES ME SICK TO MY STOMACH! AND HONESTLY, YOU MAKE ME SICK TO MY STOMACH, TOO!”

 

Darby spit a mouthful of her light libation.

 

“Yeah well, don’t get an attitude about it! I’m here drinking with your flabby ass, give me some credit! Which makes me think, what happened to your wife? I haven’t seen her in a week or two!”

 

Linn blushed bright red. He did not want to discuss the fractured state of his marriage.

 

“My other half is... visiting her relatives right now. You know, catching up on family stuff!”

 

His fellow leaseholder belched a spray of foamy liquid.

 

“C’mon dude, that’s a load of horseshit! I heard all about you two having a fight in the kitchen. And I did! It’s been all over the park, you know how rumors ‘n shit travel around this place! And these trailer walls are thin, the noise really gets around. Nobody can keep a secret in here!”

 

Her rotund neighbor began to sweat profusely. She had struck a nerve with the impulsive query.

 

“I DON’T WANT TO DISCUSS IT, OKAY? IT’S NOBODY’S BUSINESS WHAT HAPPENED! NOT YOUR BUSINESS, NOT THE SHERIFF’S BUSINESS, NOT EVEN PASTOR FORESTER’S BUSINESS, UP AT THE CHURCH! NOBODY, NOBODY, NOBODY! NOBODY NEEDS TO STICK THEIR NOSE INTO MY LIFE!”

 

Darby stood up as if pulled by puppet strings. Her bottle was empty.

 

“It’s all good, buddy. I’m gonna let you finish drinking on your own. Have a good one, dude! It’s getting too damn cold outside for me anyway! This weather makes my back ache! See you later!!!”

Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Eleven)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

When Linn Speck awakened from his bout of self-pity and overindulgence, he had a terrible hangover. This condition made it difficult to see anything clearly. But as the middle-aged fellow stood up after a brief interlude, battling an episode of vertigo, he realized that his current location was now very different in character. There were few amenities of any kind in his room, literally a spartan environment provided to house inmates during a transitional period. Bars fronted his space with a severe display of confinement. He heard noises of all kinds echoing down the hallway, outside. And when finally regaining his eyesight in full, he realized that somehow, he had been transported while unconscious to a new venue which was cold and unfamiliar.

 

Instead of being in his bedroom at home, the rotund instigator now was being held in a cell at the Geauga County Safety Center.

 

Once he had grasped the situation in real terms, he began to shout for attention. An act which only intensified his mood of desperation.

 

“HEYYYY, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SHIT? I DON’T BELONG HERE, YOU HAVE MADE SOME KIND OF MISTAKE! ARE YOU LISTENING? THIS IS SOME KIND OF INCREDIBLE MISTAKE!”

 

A deputy appeared from his station, nearby. He was clean-cut, young, and notably indifferent.

 

“Sir, you need to pipe down. It doesn’t help anything to make a scene in here...”

 

Linn rubbed his face, which was swollen from impacting the floor before he had been arrested.

 

“PIPE DOWN? THAT WON’T HAPPEN, TRUST ME! I WANT A LAWYER, DAMMIT! BRING ME AN ATTORNEY! DO IT NOW!”

 

The greenhorn officer huffed with amusement.

 

“Sir, you are not in a position to make demands here. I would suggest lowering your voice, and adopting a more cooperative attitude...”

 

The former residential leader was about to experience an emotional collapse.

 

“ARE YOU DEAF, JUNIOR? I SAID I WANT A LEGAL REPRESENTATIVE, RIGHT FREAKING NOW! IT’S MY RIGHT AS AN AMERICAN CITIZEN! DON’T YOU GET IT? I AM A PATRIOT AND A CHRISTIAN, DOESN’T THAT MEAN SOMETHING TO YOU?”

 

The department underling nodded politely, and shrugged.

 

“You are here for questioning, when one of my bosses is ready. Sheriff Rath was given a piece of video evidence regarding an arson attack at the trailer park. If I were you, I’d stay calm and hope for the best...”

 

Linn grabbed the bars of his cell and spit saliva, angrily.

 

“STAY CALM? HOPE FOR THE BEST? ARE YOU NUTS, BOY? I DON’T DESERVE THIS KIND OF TREATMENT! THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WHEN A GOOD FAMILY MAN LIKE ME ENDS UP IN YOUR FACILITY! IT’S NOT RIGHT! I HAVE TO SAY THAT IT’S NOT RIGHT AT ALL!”

 

Other people being held started their own protesting, in response to this outburst.

 

“HEY DEPUTY DAWG! SHUT THAT GUY UP, I CAN’T HEAR MYSELF THINK! USE YOUR NIGHTSTICK ON HIS SORRY ASS! OR GIVE HIM A SHOT OF PEPPER SPRAY!”

 

The youthful lawman was irritated at this break with decorum.

 

“Now see what you’ve done? You’re getting things stirred up in here, which we don’t need! Sit on your bunk and wait! There will be someone to get you for interrogation, very soon!”

 

Howls and hoots resounded throughout the building. But then, an alarm stifled this brief uprising. Every captive suddenly fell silent. Then, a spoken warning blared from the intercom system.

 

“WE WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY DISTURBANCES IN THIS FACILITY! ALL PRISONERS WILL COMPLY, OF FACE CONSEQUENCES! THE SAFETY CENTER RUNS ON A RULE OF LAW! NO EXCEPTIONS, NO EXCUSES!”

 

The mobile-home exile felt a chill run over his skin. He was alone and friendless, for the first time in his life.

 

“Okay, I’ll sit and wait. I’ll do it. Just don’t forget that I am in here, okay?”

 

An hour or more passed before he had any notice of what was about to transpire. But eventually, he was accompanied by a guard who took him to a room across from the cell block, for his interview. Only a table and two chairs were in this small cubicle. His pulse quickened, upon realizing that the sheriff himself would be conducting their session.

 

Tom Rath was big, burly, and yet good-natured. He carried a pedigree of career service that spanned many years. So, every word he used had a measure of importance and authority.

 

“You aren’t under oath, Mr. Speck. Not at the moment, anyway. I am trying to get some information on what happened at the rural community on Pine Trail Road. Will you help me do that without creating any difficulties?”

 

Linn coughed and cleared his throat. He could see that a camera was in one corner of the room.

 

“I will help you in any way I can. But before that happens, I’ve got to plead my innocence!”

 

The county protector shook his head as an acknowledgement.

 

“What do you know about the fire that affected the home of T. C. Lincoln? Anything? Anything at all?”

 

His guest growled slightly, and began to sweat.

 

“Sheriff, our trailers do burn sometimes, you must know that yourself. Bad electrical wiring, junk piled everywhere, frayed insulation, cheap materials, you’ll find all of that and more! I’ve seen a half-dozen go up in flames since moving in as a resident!”

 

Rath was unimpressed by this casual explanation.

 

“We have a fire chief licensed by the IAAI who works for our county. He’s with the International Association of Arson Investigators. There was plain evidence of the incident being started with an accelerant of some kind. It appears to be a common fuel such as gasoline...”

 

Linn swallowed hard. He reddened with obvious guilt betraying his effort at perpetrating a falsehood.

 

“That’s awful to hear! We all get along in the park. I can’t imagine anything of the kind happening in our little neighborhood! I am really surprised!”

 

Rath clenched both fists, and leaned forward on his chair.

 

“Mr. Speck, your wife came to the department for an interview this morning. She confessed suspicions about you having some involvement with the fire. She also said that you and Lincoln have had a long-running feud about how the community business is handled. Is any of that legitimate?”

 

The self-appointed, citizen’s advocate ran short of breath, and trembled visibly. His mouth turned completely dry.

 

“SHE CAME HERE? THAT BACKSTABBING BITCH! SHE CAME HERE TO RAT ME OUT? YOU CAN’T POSSIBLY BELIEVE A WORD THAT SHE SAYS! NOT A DAMN WORD, SHERIFF! SHE IS BITTER AND WANTS TO RUIN OUR MARRIAGE!”

 

The safety professional thumped his right palm flatly on the conference table. He had heard enough. There was no need to continue their formal conversation.

 

“Thank you, sir. You’ll be going back to your cell, for the moment. A county judge on this case will decide what happens next! Sit tight and keep your mouth shut!”

Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Ten)

  

 

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

When Linn Speck set fire to the singlewide home of his reclusive neighbor, that rebellious act had emboldened him to resume the campaign to lead residents of Evergreen Estates, as head of a community association. He felt powerful and victorious, whenever looking up the street at what remained of that spartan dwelling. Literally, just a heap of ashes and scrap metal, scattered over its original, concrete foundation. But as time passed with the arrival of fall, and a brightening of hues that heralded the seasonal change, he began to realize that his status within their rural development had not improved. Past supporters who previously endorsed his campaign to become their exalted defender now hid when he appeared in public. Attendance at his yard parties dwindled. Gifts of macro beer and salty snacks vanished from his redwood deck. For the first time that he could recall since coming to the junkyard oasis, he was an outcast. Shunned in silence, and no longer a favorite member of their group.

 

Being treated so rudely darkened his mood. He was unaccustomed to playing the role of an exile, particularly while still living on his corner lot. Eventually, he could not contain the emotions swelling in his gut. While quenching his thirst with chilled cans of Milwaukee’s Best and Jägermeister, sitting alone in a folding chair, the rotund instigator again decided to offer a first-hand protest. Teetering from alcoholic vertigo, he sluggishly walked from his own driveway to the vacant slab which T. C. Lincoln had occupied. Then, stumbled over loose debris at its edge.

 

“I HOPE YOU ARE IN HELL RIGHT NOW! BECAUSE THAT’S WHERE YOU BELONG, OLD MAN! RIGHT NEXT TO THE DEVIL AND ALL OF HIS POINTY-TAIL BUDDIES! SCREW HIM, AND SCREW YOU TOO! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT DOG CRAP TO ME! I AM GLAD YOU ARE GONE! YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!”

 

As before, he unzipped his fly and then let loose with a golden shower of urine.

 

On this occasion however, the nerd girl and gamer, Trina Trelane, had her exterior wi-fi camera activated from next door to the destroyed longbox. She was known by many in the park as ‘Miss Poindexter’ because of her thick, black spectacles, in addition to a nosey disposition that kept her always waiting and watching for things to happen in the park. Her buzzed hair always glowed in a shocking shade of red or purple. The surveillance device she owned had been mounted on a swivel joint, and was able to rotate for a broad-range view of the exterior yard. This meant that no one could pass without being seen.

 

Once an activity alarm brought the electronic unit to life, it started recording video evidence, automatically. Even after sunset, her distant neighbor could be easily identified in the moonlight. The data stored on an inboard memory-stick could be retrieved, remotely. As it happened, the yield offered damning confirmation of misdeeds that were transpiring, in a timely manner. And, suggested that the visiting perpetrator must have been responsible for what occurred, before.

 

Trina sputtered milk and sugary cereal, when reviewing the record on her computer.

 

“Holy shit! That bald bastard really did burn down Link’s trailer! I knew it all along! I knew it! I knew it!”

 

The isolated development had a Facebook page dedicated to sharing news and notes that related to their tiny enclave. So, she immediately posted a link to the clip, under an anonymous name. Though many who watched the video knew immediately who must have put it online.

 

Pokemon Queen 46821 – “Take a look at this, everybody! We’ve got a real troublemaker in our midst! Are you surprised? I’m not, not at all! He’s probably still pissed off about being knocked on his butt by the old dude that lived on my eastern side. We weren’t friends really, but I got a kick out of his attitude. That poor guy didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought about his life! I guess you might say he was a free spirit! I am too, yes I am!”

 

The contrarian boozer had never been popular at Evergreen Estates. Yet a measure of sympathy was generated by the thought of him being homeless. Evictions were common in the park, and always ugly. Therefore, every resident resented the thought of being expelled, under any circumstances.

 

Predictably, Linn attempted to deny his role in the fire. But with this subsequent demonstration of glee being put on display, he had little credibility with any of the other leaseholders. Horns honked as vehicles passed his vintage abode. Then, beer bottles began to fly. Trash accumulated on his lawn. And obscenities were shouted from the street.

 

None of these incidents made the flabby instigator feel guilty. He was defiant and proud of removing his opponent from their development. Only a protest from his estranged wife brought any hint of remorse. Her comment on the residential page caused him to chill with emotion.

 

“I knew it all along, mister! You’ve got no heart. To be honest, you are in love with yourself! I put up with that nonsense for many years, but it’s over now! You’re a fat weasel and a backstabber! You treat everybody the same, like they owe you some kind of worship! So believe me, I am thrilled to see you get exposed in this little community! You deserve to be outed! Good luck, husband! I hope someone kicks your flabby ass! You definitely have it coming!”

 

The public message provided a double shot of comeuppance. Not only had his role in the act of arson been revealed, but now those who lived in the neighborhood also knew that his marriage was failing. Everything that he depended upon was crumbling at his feet. Only a visit from their county sheriff could make his day any worse.

 

Linn sat at his kitchen table, swigging cheap brew and German liquor. He cursed and cried while flipping through pages of his wedding album. This session of self-torture eventually brought him to a point of total inebriation. After becoming tipsy, he fell on the linoleum floor. Then rolled from side to side, in an attempt to right himself. But darkness descended as he lost consciousness. He would snore and sniffle while dropping into a woeful state of obliteration that swallowed him, entirely.

 

His vengeful day of reckoning was now at an end.

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Stuck” (Part Nine)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

T. C. Lincoln had been forced to seek refuge at the abandoned property of his estranged companion, Janis Mays, by circumstances that were unforeseen. Yet this arbitrary relocation initially gave him a sense of being freed from prison. His exit at Evergreen Estates, and expulsion from the prevailing social climate of a retrograde evolutionary curve, brought hope for betterment. But as days and weeks passed while living in the Econoline van that was his only remaining form of shelter, he began to tire of this restrictive environment. So, despite his own disability, he decided to scout around the wooded acreage, and a dilapidated home that stood nearby.

 

The structure where his friend had been was in a sad state of disrepair. Clearly not suitable as a living space for anyone. He could see trash piled inside, through the broken windows. The air around its perimeter reeked of must and mold. Wild creatures and insects had entered the two-story house, with visible effects. Their invasion added to the decay within, and all but guaranteed that at some future point in its history, the venerable dwelling would simply be torn down, to make way for some newer, more sophisticated development.

 

But while hiking through the brush and bramble, he discovered that a storage shed once used as a temporary residence was still standing in the side yard. He remembered hiding out in the small barn during a temporary exodus from the park, when his female associate had still been at the distant site. Inside, there was a recliner, a beverage cooler, radio, and various items left from that previous stay. An electric line that ran to the power pole by Gore Road was still intact. And when he carelessly fiddled with a connection on the interior wall, a spark from the breaker box resulted.

 

His eyebrows raised with curiosity, when pondering that the circuit was still active.

 

“Who the hell would be paying her bill? She hasn’t lived here in more than a year! Did they just miss doing a disconnection? This shit makes no sense!”

 

That random discovery lifted his spirits immediately. He cleared away rubbish and debris from around the tiny shack, stationed the easy chair so that it would be usable for rest and sleeping, and then hooked up a lamp, a box fan, and the radio.

 

From Geneva, WKKY-FM offered a broadcast commemorating the late performer, Johnny paycheck. An Ohio native who had become a worldwide star, with a troubled pedigree that gave him credibility as a member of the outlaw movement in Country Music.

 

“I sit here on this stool, drink so much I blew my cool

And now they’re closing up the world I’m living in

So I guess it’s time to go, or at least they told me so

Yes I’m going home, it’s motel time again

Motel time again

Guess I’ll take myself to bed

I don’t even know what town I’m in

Yet I’ll find my way once more

To that number on the door

Then I’ll be home

Motel Time again...”

 

Lincoln reckoned that at least for the moment, his anonymous venue by Lake Erie would suffice as a sort of rented room. His own motel for the moment. With enough creature comforts to keep him safe, and out of sight, until better options were available.

 

The live wire would have allowed him to recharge his cellular device, the only link he had to anyone in the outside world. But he did not want to reach out for contact. So instead, he allowed the minimalist wafer to go silent. There was no longer any need to engage in conversation with his former neighbors. And members of his family had long ago decided to excommunicate him from their brood.

 

This period of splendid isolation continued for a matter of weeks. Yet as the fall season progressed into a dazzling show of red, orange, and brown hues, he noted commercial vehicles passing the isolated plot of land. At first, they simply drove by as if going somewhere else on an undeclared mission. Then, one of these large trucks pulled into the weedy driveway. A narrow path originally covered with gravel and chunks of waste asphalt.

 

The reclusive hermit stayed inside of his adopted shed, where he would not be visible. The Econoline van was parked behind a stand of old-growth pines, that were tall in stature, with broad branches. He nearly held his breath as two men disembarked from their work rig, and began surveying the property. Finally, they cataloged the empty homestead with digital photographs, and measurements. As if a project were being planned.

 

This activity soured Lincoln’s stomach. It made him realize that the safe haven he occupied might soon be overrun.

 

Once the anonymous duo had completed their assignment, and disappeared, he emerged from the storage barn. Being caught as a squatter on the wooded tract was something he did not want to explain. Especially because, with Janis having gone to live in a skilled-care facility, he suspected that she might no longer be a legal owner of the site.

 

After sunset, he repacked everything into his motorized transport. In the morning, while those along the rural boulevard were still slumbering, he would leave quietly. With no destination in mind, except possibly, the border of Pennsylvania. He wanted to become invisible, and vanish from his native realm. That magic trick represented a way to escape the wages of sin, without facing any consequences for his bad habits and contrarian behavior. He reckoned that it was the only remedy to his damnation. Though such a measure of grace was something he did not deserve.

 

The perpetual dispute with Linn Speck had been particularly exhausting. Because deep in his own psychological makeup, there remained a durable kernel of guilt. A belief, instilled by members of his bloodline, that he had wasted his talent. And rebuffed the gifts of a loving creator, which might have been used for a higher purpose.

 

Suicide would never have been a choice that he could embrace. He considered it to be a blasphemous rebuke of God and his cosmic kingdom. But to erase himself for all time, to negate his existence, identity, and history, seemed appealing. Even on a certain level, wonderful to contemplate.

 

For the displaced loner, a new chapter awaited, with the daybreak that was about to arrive. In the primal glimmer of a new day, T. C. Lincoln would breathe his last, and enter the vast realm of eternity as a footnote, soon to be forgotten.

 

“Hope, Surrendered”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

Hope surrendered, fate embraced

A turn toward the inevitable, a plea for grace

Each step I take is a plodding chore

A difficult dance from my bed to the door

These old bones are weary, yet still being used

And the options I face are not pleasant to view

Should I seek a revision, in a hospital ward?

If so, will that wish be endorsed or ignored?

The doctors I see are trained to detect

The problems I face with these woes in effect

But somehow the curse is clearly invisible

Because when I speak, that cry is inaudible

Silent to those who incline their ears

A difficult dilemma that bolsters my fear

I sit in a wheelchair, hoping to heal

And instead find myself plotting a deal

How many decisions, how many indeed!

A roster of remedies to appeal and agree

The solutions seem obvious, like using my crutch

I trust in the tribe with certificates and such

But insurers and monitors stand in between

An honor guard of interpreters, who govern the scene

I am but a patient, with a heartbeat to give

They will choose how I think, and debate how I live

Upright and in motion, or flat on my back

Careening through care centers, while staying on track

My birthdate and name, repeated for show

Dressed in the garb of a handicapped fellow

Stripes on the fabric, like a prisoner’s sheath

And all the while, I seek only relief

To be better enough, to get a ticket to ride

A pass through the portal, back to life on the outside

That fantastic voyage is one I will crave

While stuck in this room, a medical cave

Pale and poked like a melon at the market

Until I turn numb and begin to forget

The cause of this interlude, spent away from the crowd

Safe in a cubicle, though lingering in doubt

What did I neglect to be put in this place?

What habits must I shun, to get the chalkboard erased?

I look at the calendar, but it offers no clues

I can’t find my hat or my shirt, or my shoes

Dignity is a veneer that too quickly goes away

A glimmer soon gone during a hospital stay

Though my muscles react, with therapy involved

I find out too late that nothing was solved

Over and over, I explain my condition

And realize that my claims are a dated edition

Deaf is the aide who stands by my side

Going through the motions, preening with pride

Kind in their manner, but unable to hear

My tale of the tempest, over a diagnosis, unclear

Monitors intone their cadence of concern

An alarm on the rail, installed to be firm

With a tattletale squawking, if I change my position

And attendants come running, stern in their mission

The home that I left is a shelter, unoccupied

A living space abandoned, a privilege, denied

Of that place, I dream, while wishing to escape

Making my petition for a Superman cape

Too long have I hobbled, and now that good deed

Has brought me to this, it planted the seed

My endurance is laudable, yet still not enough

To prevent me from wrangling with this ride in the rough

So, I lie still and breathe, as machines do their work

And comply with the counselors, doctors, and clerks

Until an intervention is made to dispel

The hindrances plaguing my fight to be well

When that occurs, I will celebrate the flip

And roll off the floor with a song on my lips!

“The Answer”

  

c/ 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

I’d like to rise from a chair, without calling upon God

Or perhaps give my youth a wink and a nod

Yet before this mirror, stands a sorry sod

The answer is no

I’d like to think that science would duly impart

The kind of healing, to fix body parts

And replace what I had, right from the start

But the answer is no

 

In a room to be carefully examined and healed

On a mobile perch, rolled in on slim wheels

A game with the medical Roulette Wheel

But the answer is no

The doctor was pleasant, all business in fact

But the options he offered were not white or black

I could have easily had a heart attack

Yes, the answer is no

 

Barely able to move, or walk down the hall

No longer a candidate for summer baseball

Just a sidelined senior citizen, at risk for a fall

But the answer is no

I still have some time to live and endure

A span less appealing, with a destiny, unsure

In this temple of knowledge, there is no cure

The answer is no

 

I went home to sulk by myself with a drink

And use that leisure time to rest up and think

But all it did was bring me close to the brink

The answer is no

Guidelines and guardrails determine the course

Insurance adjusters keep their wishes enforced

And meanwhile I sit alone on my porch

The answer is no

 

Ugly, unwashed, and bound to be bold

I ponder the costs, unhappy and old

While indifference leaves me out in the cold

The answer is no

Genetics determined that I would arrive

At a point past halfway, on a downhill slide

At a place of disability, delayed and denied

But the answer is no

 

I no longer recognize the look of myself

And cannot maintain a proper level of health

All this seems to do is spend down my wealth

The answer is no

Flatly rejected and rightly rebuked

By masters of mercy in clinical suits

Somehow, I expected a different reading of clues

The answer is no

 

Struggling along from one room to the next

Too slow to recall the proper context

For the reasons I became a reclusive wreck

The answer is no

A separation from habits that kept me aligned

A parting of ways, in body and mind

A final surrender at the finish line

The answer is no

 

Charts for the hospital, and also for me

A chance to document my insufficiency

With the click of a tumbler for each spin of the key

The answer is no

With my prescription, I may stand once again

A story in the scribble from a physician’s pen

A cryptic assessment, or a cluck from a hen

The answer is no

 

A plea to the heavens, for grace from the Lord

Of bettered mobility, to be my reward

Yet here I am stuck with what copays afford

The answer is no

A number on a schedule, a name to repeat

Otherwise, with no coverage, to be dumped in the street

All for the purpose of a deadline to meet

The answer is no

 

If I do not wake from this dream of demise

I hope to be free of this sad enterprise

Privileged to sleep, after a closing of eyes

The answer is no

I won’t raise a ruckus over what has transpired

I would rather disappear in a flicker of fire

A communication conducted through a telephone wire

The answer is no

 

Born as a babe. to grow tall and strong

A joy to be heard in verses of song

But not grand enough to be kept here for long

The answer is no

My value as an entity is less than I thought

A sum signified by the coverage I bought

With years of hard labor, equal to naught

The answer is no

 

God bless the infirm, the weak and the sick

The ranks that I join at the point of a pin prick

This change happened slowly, yet incredibly quick

The answer is no

An x-ray inspection on a photographic spree

A check deep inside of one hip, and my knees

And that consultation is a fling of organic debris

The answer is no

Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Eight)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

Linn Speck had been abandoned by his wife during previous bouts of martial conflict. Yet this time, it seemed that perhaps their marriage was finally at an end. The tone of his romantic partner had turned particularly sharp and judgmental, something he could not remember happening before. And on this occasion, she did not indicate going to stay with members of her family. Instead, whatever plans she had in mind were more mysterious and difficult to fathom. She had been loving and cheerful for so long, that the thought of a permanent separation never entered his mind. But now, he had a sense of dread when anticipating her next move.

 

Still, he could not think that any woman would willingly abandon a partnership with someone like himself. He was in every way, at least in his own mind, an example of American manhood that a single female might seek out as a trophy. Though his physique had matured from its primal form, with rolls of skin hanging under his jowls, and a balding dome atop his skull, he felt fine and fit for his age. Able to meet any challenge when it arrived.

 

This mood of confidence and superiority began to blur, as he sat at the kitchen table, while a 30-pack of Milwaukee’s Best Premium chilled in his refrigerator. With each fresh round of brew, he lagged farther behind the chronological curve. Feeling more mellow and subdued, despite the perplexing situation into which he had fallen. His eyesight went out of focus. He slumped in the chair, with both arms dangling at his sides.

 

Then, he began to snore loudly.

 

While unconscious, he breathed the scent of a sulfur plume, which filled the room with smoke. From the center of that pungent void, a ghostly apparition emerged, boasting freakish eyes, long nails that glowed with tips of fire, and a hot presence of feminine rage. Esmeralda Jonovic, the dead militia queen who had once lived at Evergreen Estates, spoke with a shrill shriek of displeasure that rattled the windows. Normally, she had only visited her former neighbor, the reclusive drunk who had been expelled from their trailer village. But now, her rise had a purpose renewed by the secretive strike at Lot 13.

 

“YA FAT PIECE OF SHIT! ARE Y’ALL JUST GONNA SIT HERE AND GET MESSED UP ON THAT CHEAP PISS, INSTEAD OF GOIN’ TO THE SHERIFF, AND ADMITTIN’ YER GUILT?”

 

Linn was lost in the dark realm of purgatory. But able to plead his case even from the crest of oblivion.

 

“Guilt? Who the heck are you, and what does that mean?”

The surging phantasm hovered over his slumbering figure, and cackled.

 

“LINK, THAT GUY UP THE STREET! HE WAS A FRIEND OF MINE Y’ALL MIGHT SAY, YEARS AGO. BUT YA RAN HIS ASS OUTTA HERE BY SETTIN’ FIRE TO HIS GAWDAMN SHACK! AND THEN PISSED ON THE ASHES! WHAT KIND OF NO-BALLS WIMP DOES SOMETHIN’ LIKE THAT?”

 

Her target shook and slobbered while still unable to react directly.

 

“Fire? I don’t know what you mean, lady! If you were a friend of that old drunk, then you know what a dirty, ugly waste of humanity he was. An eyesore to behold. I’ll bet he hadn’t taken a bath in months or years!”

 

Jonovic spread her claws angrily, mimicking a feral cat.

 

“THAT DUDE WAS DIFFERENT, I’LL ADMIT IT. BUT BY GAWD, HE HAD SOME STONES! WHICH IS MORE THAN I CAN SAY FER YER SORRY ASS! Y’ALL HAVE BEEN SNEAKIN’ AROUND THIS PARK FER YEARS, TRYIN’ TO STIR UP A MESS. ALWAYS LETTIN’ FOLKS LIKE MY LIEUTENANT, AIMES HEFTI, TAKE THE HEAT. NEVER BUCKIN’ UP AND SHOWIN’ SOME BACKBONE. THAT’S A EUNUCH WAY TO GO ABOUT LIFE! Y’ALL CAN TALK A LOT OF CRAP, BUT CAN’T BACK IT UP!”

 

Linn floundered on the kitchen table, in attempt to wake himself. But his eyes remain closed.

 

“I don’t deserve that kind of talk, whoever you are! I’ve been a good husband and father, and member of the church up on our township square! That ought to count for a lot, especially in a dump like this! People of my reputation matter! We keep things on the straight and narrow! We are the reason that this nation can be great again!”

 

The lifeless militia leader threw back her head, and let out a steamy guffaw of defiance.

 

“YER A SLIMY DEVIL, MR. SPECK! BUT DID YA REALLY THINK THAT ANYBODY HERE EVER TOOK YA SERIOUSLY? YER SWEETHEART JUST PUT THAT RUMOR TO REST! SHE GOT FED UP WITH YER BULLSHIT, JUST LIKE T. C. LINCOLN DID! HOW ABOUT THAT!”

 

The failed association king sputtered and salivated in his sleep.

 

“Don’t ever compare my spouse with that ornery rascal! Getting rid of him was like taking out the trash! It needed to be done! And I am glad it was done!”

 

The undead, extremist advocate squealed with delight. Her face glowed in a shade of bright red.

 

“IS THAT A DAMN CONFESSION, FAT BOY? IT SOUNDED LIKE ONE TO ME!”

 

Her victim shook fearfully, while struggling to regain consciousness.

 

“Not at all! Not at all! I am not admitting anything, to you or anyone else!”

 

Jonovic drew nearer to the mortal instigator, until her acrid breath stung his flesh.

 

“WHEN YER ON THE OTHER SIDE, Y’ALL CAN SEE THINGS AND HEAR THINGS, GAWDAMNIT! I KNOW YA SCREWED OVER MY FRIEND. I KNOW YA SET FIRE TO HIS SINGLEWIDE. I KNOW YA LIED ABOUT IT, AND COVERED SHIT UP. I KNOW YER TOO MUCH OF A COWARD TO OWN UP TO THAT FRIGGIN’ MISTAKE! BUT TRUST ME, THERE’LL BE A RECKONIN’ SOMEDAY! DON’T DOUBT IT, ASSHOLE! DON’T EVER DOUBT IT! YER FATE IS ALREADY SEALED!”

 

Linn had turned sweaty in the moment. He fell out of his chair, and landed on the linoleum floor with a painful thud. This violent impact freed him from the mysterious spell, at last. His kitchen cleared quickly, with only a faint trace of sulfur left in the air. It took a minute to gather his thoughts, and stand upright once again. His face tingled with fiery reside from the fantastic appearance he had witnessed. Yet he could not be certain that anything he saw was literally real.

 

One can of the budget brew remained in his fridge. He opened it in hurry, and let the foamy contents stream down his chin. This was his first day of living alone at the rural community. But he hoped that despite being a suspect for fellow residents, the sheriff’s deputies, and otherworldly spirits, it would not be his last.