Not sleeping well tonight.
Sleeping in volcanic shifts.
He was a menace to society.
It doesn't fit.
His face nor his expression,
the persistent sadness in his eyes.
He looks like Buddha lost in thought,
a person thinking at the end of a long story.
The camera intrudes:
a young woman says "He's not at all
like what you might think. I was heading there
to the mall today. I have known him...its not like
people change that much...in a blink."
(She looked as if she could not be lying.)
I saw her talking to me in my dreams
last night
in the foggy distance I saw
the two of them together,
being everyday normal, having fun
being friends, having everyday conversation
at a small sandwich shoppe on
Hawthorne
the boulevard where we all fit in
or die.
I can't help but wonder
why
I feel so
torn inside though I never knew either one.
But have this creeping feeling I have known them all
everyone,
the lonely ones,
the troubled ones,
and I have been one
of them.
Now the Expert Forensic Psychiatrist
interrupts my dreams.
He, as always, has the answers.
(Though he's a part of the medical model.)
Has infrared vision, can see into the minds of all
he sees or even, doesn't see.
But I don't trust his twitchy
micro-expressions
they are the tell-tale heart of his little schemes.
He's part and parcel of the latest
boob-tube-oh-rama
the latest psycho-drama
(Because we, the audience can't understand it,
we're so stupid, after all.)
Still, I believe
he's no expert on human nature,
kindness not in his nomenclature,
with his Templeton the Rat demeanor,
his Snidely Whiplash smile.
Turn the dial,
I control the horizontal of this dream.
And soon he fades to darkness
like his schemes.
Now, the pale dark-haired boy is fading too...
and his friend's faint praises
are evading any understanding
that the public might have.
His weeping Mother has no salve.
Did he?
Making sandwiches on Hawthorne
where you fit in neatly or
you die.
You don't believe me?
There are plenty reasons why
you should...
I have the names to match the numbers on
my hands of other people who
went out for years and years before.
Both enumerated are the outcasts and the poor.
Society's mistakes.
All like Jake
who never got his front foot into the door.
I try to see all sides to a situation.
I think part of the story to
a recent tragedy is missing.
I guess my brain went into overdrive
and tried to dream out a solution.
There is none. Only shock, disbelief,
sorrow. My empathy is for Jake's
Mother too, as well as his victims.
There is a kind of incongruity to
the whole story. I wonder if it will ever be
complete?
Copyright December 13, 2012 All Rights Reserved by This author
Melissa A Howells Meloo Tilt-a-World
