“Corkscrew”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

Something crazy

Yes, something wild

A road trip ‘cross the border

For a run down the Miracle Mile

Taking those chances that

I once might have embarked upon

With a bit more courage

A capricious run in a marathon

If only I could stand up

For long enough to take stock

Count the ticking and tocking

Of a stately old, grandfather clock

Those hands sweeping time

While I move through the mist

A journey to tomorrow

Which no one can resist

It seems simple from this vantage point

A conclusion rightly made

It meets my palate sweetly,

Like a summer drink of lemonade

Yet turns too quickly into rot

A beverage born of fiery fate

Scalding all the way down

While I cough and curse, or jump and shake

That is the price to pay

For being aware of secret truths

Like Superman, naked and numb

In the confines of a phone booth

Where did he find the proper pose?

I have to justly wonder aloud

Especially with his fictional tale

Revealing more than the plot allowed

It’s a kick, unkind and cruel

With lazy laughter, resounding

Would I have been better off

To keep my headache pounding?

Pressure points expose the flaws

Each failing oddly put to test

A scroll kept in a library nook

Behind wallpaper with a crusty crest

If I could dance the two-step

Then it might have been a breeze

To segue from one room, beyond

Without falling on my knees

But the tripping trot I did employ

Put my balance off its mark

I fell against the blackboard

A chalk-line border ‘round my heart

The shudder of this impact

Caused the whole room to quiver

It struck my tongue with the taste

Of a lesson, rudely delivered

No longer crazy

No longer so wild

Humbled and hobbled, by the result

Of an index card, mis-filed

I got lost in those skinny drawers

Never again to be found

My name went on, unspoken

A silent supplication in sound

But somewhere in that black hole

The universe gave grace

I was allowed to keep my chips

Like a gambler’s grab in haste

Whoever recalls that I was here

Is a hero I won’t deny

At the end of days, lingering still

With a warm heart on the inside

An inscription chiseled chiefly

To denote my rank and file

Is all that remains, a postage stamp

A kiss of the afterwhile

A footprint in fresh concrete

Which precipitates a mess

The trowel no longer useful

To erase this bold excess

Hardened in the nick of time

That is the way I felt

Unable, or unwilling

To revisit my younger self

That ability to choose a lane

From several on display

Is now only a wish, expired

That deal has gone away

Deaf I am to pleading pawns

I can’t hear the words they utter

My flesh and bone are supple, now

Like a dish of melted butter

My intellect, unprotected

No ransom received in trade

A last sunset falls behind the trees

With darkness, on parade

Something crazed and crazy

Something wild and worn

Closure comes at last

A graduation, true to form

Chatter, schmatter, on the line

It tingles my ear with pride

An eventual embrace of circumstance

A coming of the tide

Let the rush of water

Baptize me now, as clean

I’ve finally found the exit door

An escape from the modern scene

Warring tribes with sticks and stones

May continue to defend

But my turn of the corkscrew

Has reached its blissful end