by Jason Floyd Williams
Daniel Boone—after living w/ the Shawnee Indians
5 months, first as a captured enemy, then as a stepson
to Chief Blackfish, learned of his new family’s plans
of attacking his old family back at the Fort—ran (in 4 days)
160+ miles through dense Appalachian woods,
w/ a bum ankle from a gunshot wound, to warn
the pioneers.
He fought w/ the pioneers against
his former surrogate family.
The Shawnee disagreed w/ the pioneers moving
into their Kentucky neighborhood.
My brother-in-law, Larry, never ran
160+ miles to save his kin.
I haven’t, either.
Very few of us have, in fact.
These days, Larry’s been digging more desperately—
an archeologist w/ an Easter Island mound
of gambling debt—into his past, especially
when someone mentions running into an
old classmate.
Larry’s a 1920s investigative reporter following
the moonshine drips leading to the hidden speakeasy:
Where did you see him? What time?
What else did he say besides ‘Hello’?
We each have our personal highlights;
the stuff in our personal legends.
Sometimes they just happen earlier
for others.
Larry’s was his starting position as a Kicker,
on his High School football team.
He had a solid consistency in
getting extra points & field-goals.
He even won a couple free tickets to a
Monster Truck Rally during a Browns’
half-time show: they challenged fans
to come down & kick a field goal.
Whoever got the longest field goal won.
Larry got it at 35-yards.
But now, at 37-yrs old, he’s compiling & collecting
data from his old yearbooks & newspapers clippings
surrounding that time.
His 2nd shift factory job gives him no satisfaction.
His co-workers, a crowd of Croatian women,
watch him w/ Sherlock Holmes intensity—
waiting for the moment Larry’s mind wanders
away from his machine.
Then they report him.
So, that’s all he does: dig into the past.
He wants a fuller understanding
of those moments—
He wants to give them more permanence,
more polish, more shellacking.
After all, that’s what poetry is:
scouring the past to explain the present.
January 20, 2009
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January
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- Untitled #92
- A WOMAN GOES INTO THE CEMETERY
- The Other Day
- The Shits
- an ex girlfriend's grandfather
- Sitting at home with Hercules
- Ken who had bad lungs and a dodgy ticker
- INFILTRATION
- On Seeing Harmony Korine in the Hilltop Diner On U...
- TENTACLES, LEAVES
- Dead season
- THE INNOCENCE I'VE KNOWN
- IN VENICE, THAT NOVEMBER AND DECEMBER
- Famous
- a maniac barely subdued.
- the stuff of legends.
- EVEN THERE
- Wednesday
- waiting
- elvis
- IN SPITE OF HIS DANGLING PRONOUN
- one day you'll pack yr organs in a valise & vacate
- drunk email to stacy at 3:14 a.m.
- Rumspringa*
- pillow humping
- CAT CALLAHAN
- Mother, Edith, at 98
- long sad lonesome
- Ocotillo*
- marcy
- flowers for everyone
- { IN RESPONSE TO ARLINGTON... }
- { 3 SHORT-STACKS TO PASS A SAD HOUR }
- Sometimes it's a pleasure
- I TOLD YOU HOW IT WOULD GO
- FLIGHT RISK
- NOT QUITE SPRING
- The Alley
- Caged Heat
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