1 Poem by
AD Winans
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SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN
I had a friend
whose parents
were successful writers
and wanted to be like them
but his prose didn't cut it
not good, not bad
somewhere in between
so he took a job as a librarian
at a small University
and edited a library journal
not good, not bad
somewhere in between
and in his free hours wrote
the poesy
but having never worked
at a blue collar job
or spent time on the streets
or faced down a bully
in a bar
his experience was limited
to the hallowed halls
of the University
holding out hope
he could be another
Philip Levine
or at least a Locklin
or Hugh Fox
but his poems were
not good, not bad
but somewhere in between
He took an early golden
parachute retirement
and retired to the country
to live with his cat
and telescope
and flirt with the poesy
while gazing at the stars
and rubbing his Buddha belly
Over the many years
we had conversations
and broke bread on occasion
had a drink or two
more for me, less for him
and he convinced me
he was a man of gentle soul
if not raging words.
His poems sometimes cute
sometimes clever
always technically competent
but never cutting to the bone
never leaving me hungry
for more
never tearing at my gut
like a bad case of cramps
just words that fit on the page
filled space like a box of corn flakes
His problem is he had
no reality of what is occurring
in the lives of ordinary men and women
what a living hell they fight
day in and day out
just to pay the simple bed and board
The years passed all too quickly
and the fates were good to me
as I gained a small measure of success
while he labored in obscurity
and that's when the change took place
no more letters, no phone calls
just a few hollow e-mail messages
and then word leaked down to me
that this man of "gentle" soul
was bad mouthing me to others
this man who asked for decency
and love in his poems
was practicing exactly the opposite
and when I confronted him
he reacted hysterically saying
I was sick and needed help
and that others felt the same way
hardly the karma one might suspect
from a friend let alone
a "gentle" soul.
The moral of this story is
beware of people who tell you
they are of "gentle" soul
who seek immortality or minor fame
for as Bukowski told me long ago
"always remember that betrayal
is a built-in concept of the
way it goes
The blade will never be sharp
when you know it's been there."
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