Half Life
I was nearing the end of my rope, which
had never been a very long rope anyway.
It was the winter of my malcontent.
I ran at the mouth and said nothing.
All the while I dreamed of beauties
who didn't have factories tied to their
pussies, and if you wanted one
you had to deal with the other.
And Randy said, "Jim, do you think
we'll get out of this place half alive?"
Randy was a transient like me,
recently married and martyred.
We smoked cigarettes on our
ten minute break, and that smoke
was cleaner than the factory air.
Ten paces away, Charlie was standing
in the snow, rubbing his hands
with an ice ball to numb the sting
of the machines, then placed
the ice ball on his jowls where
a chip of rock from the grinding wheel
shot up like a little red comet under
his mask. Randy told me again
how beautiful my wife was and
how lucky I was to be going home to her,
I laughed and laughed and kept laughing
even when the return buzzer blasted
like the start of a nuclear holocaust
and we marched back inside like
frozen Napoleon soldiers invading
a burnt Russia. The machines turned on
and the parts came down the line fast,
faster than anyone could keep up,
and I wasn't laughing anymore.
It was a modern day torture chamber,
only they replaced the rack and screw
and the hooded men with whips
with production numbers and foremen
and at night I got to go home
to my wife, who was not half
as alive.
image
i never wanted
to walk around
in a white suit
like Tom Wolfe
I never wanted
to groom
a large mustache
like William Saroyan
I never wanted
to throw up
in grand pianos
like Charles Bukowski
I never wanted
to kill myself
over almost nothing
like Sylvia Plath
I never wanted
to cultivate
the image
some writers get
when they write
well
the truths
of themselves
and yet
look
at what's
happened
the Jim Valvis
image
has usurped
the Jim Valvis
truth
and i've become
a cartoon
for the masses
after all
which is really
all they wanted
i should have listened
somebody once said to me,
"if you're going to do it
make sure you do it poorly
nobody likes a hotshot"
so i made it a point
to do everything well
and now nobody likes me
serves me right
throne
in Maryhill Museum
in a small room in the back
next to a large portrait
sits a large brass throne
intricately carved
that was used
by the Princess of Romania
i stood there for ten minutes
wanting to sit on it
though there were signs
stating that was forbidden
people walked all around me
but the urge would not abate
and i wanted them gone
all those people
so i could sit on the throne
and decide for myself
what it's like to sit
on a princess's throne
after the ten minutes
the room cleared out
and I gingerly crossed
the barrier tape
and planted my fat ass
right on the throne
it was uncomfortable
i got back up
and ducked under the tape
right before
a security guard came in
and went to find
my girlfriend Katrina
who is not a princess
Romanian or otherwise
but whose chair
is
my kind of chair
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