“Genetic Curve”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

Stalled by a genetic curve

Some say this is an inherited judgment that I deserve

But from wherever it comes

This day is done

I used to move from one place to another

Stealthy and easy on my feet, always under cover

A special agent, searching for clues

But now I don’t know what to do

The bend of my knees is uncontrolled

Limbs going wide when I languish in the cold

Stiff and sore, slouched on my spot

Crouching in a shadow that Father Time begot

Gray strands on my brow

I want to find the exit, but don’t know how

A petition to heaven is made

But the lines of communication seem seriously frayed

And there is a peg in my ear

Inclined to listen, yet unable to hear

I need to know what password will suffice

To cause the gatekeeper to key his device

And let me step over the threshold

A commoner, turned bold

I conjure up such images in a watercolor splash

With my brush tip tracing the lines of a carnival crash

Which I am certain will come

When my balance is surrendered for a pricey sum

Last in the queue

Last one permitted to be going through

This is the boardwalk where I step along

Counting the tiles like verses of a song

In a succession of tones

A journey that I must take alone

Arthritic, and fraught with muscular fits

A refugee held in a cavernous pit

Voice calling upward against the walls, for relief

A ritual that transpires while in my sleep

One that causes me to toss the bedcovers aside

And beg God not to be denied

The genetic code contained therein

Is a sequence summoned by spirits who rule my kin

As much a part of what I become

As the names of mothers, daughters and sons

Once, long ago, my birth was considered to be

A miracle of life, a planting of the seed

Yet now, when the garden has grown so well

I have only a cautionary tale to tell

An opening of the puzzle box

A tinkering with mechanical locks

Which in time, will reveal

That this breaking of the seal

Has brought me to the point of cursing my coil

How much better it would have been to slumber in the soil

For a longer passage of days

I did not germinate and mature

Did not become fully assured

Of a long run toward the horizon

In a marathon, neither lost or won

And I must weep

With these secrets to keep

Fear of falling when I need to stand

At the crest of a new endeavor, to be taken in hand

Why does the clock tick and chime, when time itself is still?

At the hour when I surrender my will

Stiffly stooped over, in the manner of a mortal relic

Not ready to embrace a mood, angelic

Over this graduation to the portrait gallery

Where those of antiquity

Are remembered in palette hues

Swaths of color, too quickly passing through

Breaths breathed and exhaled

It is the season to trim my sails

“Forgotten Man”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

My bed was cold this morning, when sunlight brought the day

I wanted to ignore the call, but it didn’t go that way

I had to face myself, in a glimmer of the sun

And that reflection reminded me of things that I had done

Now I used to be a family man, living right with God

And I walked the straight-and-narrow, a figure to applaud

But I put a step asunder, and it took me off the line

I ended up alone, and running out of time

You might think this story is a tale of woe to sell

But in my sad confession is advice for living well

If you see what I have done, and wish to turn aside

I’ll cheer your better nature, to shun this death, defied

 

I had no such intention, to follow a fateful plan

But now I’m on the outside, a fallen, forgotten man

 

My bed was once a happy place, a throne for king and queen

Where love and all devotion, made the heavens gleam

But when my wife grew weary, she opened up the door

Because I had lost sight of what my working days were for

She went home to her family, a choice that made good sense

And I was left to struggle on, paying all the rent

Eventually, I realized that the fight was not to win

I could not find a victory in the fleeting fires of sin

By that time, my better half had disappeared from sight

I could not find her anywhere, searching day and night

It broke me like a swayback mule, no longer worth its keep

And I found only restless hours, as I tried to sleep

 

I had no such intention, to follow a fateful plan

But now I’m on the outside, a fallen, forgotten man

 

My body used to boast the strength, of a dozen men

And I could always beat their best, right to the very end

But age and consequences, have now taken a toll

And I sit in a pew as the preacher prays, in defense of mortal souls

My hands they are a-trembling, with guilt and a touch of guile

Never did I understand that fool’s gold is an ashen pile

No luster of a treasure, that glistens in the light

It would have been much better to do, what I knew was right

The final moment found me weak, I gave it all away

Everything that I had learned from the time of my first birthday

My pockets all were empty, I had no claim to hope

Nothing left but a reputation, vanished into smoke

 

I had no such intention, to follow a fateful plan

But now I’m on the outside, a fallen, forgotten man

 

If you see me at the park, head down against the wind

And wonder about the man I was, what I once had been

Perhaps you’ll take a lesson, and repent of your own deeds

The hour is not too late, my friend, to hear and then believe

I’ve never thought about the world as owing anything

I expect no gifts or accolades, no seeking of a brass ring

But the yield of pride is slim and slight, when the rooster crows

I could have held the crown, but it was not the prize I chose

As darkness filled the sky, I saw the sands run out

And that view made me shield my eyes, from bitterness and doubt

The dice-roll that I cast, paid a debt of failed intent

And I was left to face the scrolls, with my final judgment

 

I had no such intention, to follow a fateful plan

But now I’m on the outside, a fallen, forgotten man

 

 

 

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!