Last Supper
And Creation Myths
It’s been a busy month for oral poetry. The first of the month I was involved in a poetry “record release” reading at the Missoula Public Library. Missoula Community Access Television was able to record it. It’s on MCAT and at their YouTube channel.
A week later, James Jay and I joined The Friends of Irish Studies in Anaconda at the Ancient Order of Hibernians Hall to read Irish poetry and promote the University of Montana Irish Studies Program and the Irish field game of hurling. We had a great time with those Anaconda Irish, and over the last week I managed to write a couple of poems that came out of that visit that I’ll read for you below.
The Last Supper in Anaconda for James On a Friday night after reading Irish Poetry to the Ancient Order of Hibernians And polishing off four pints of Guinness, We decide it’s time to get something to eat. Our recent, Irish-Anaconda friends Alert us to the fact that it’s nine o’clock— The only place still open is Micky Ds. We pause, consider making it a Guinness Dinner, but opt to drive for those golden Arches (I hadn’t entered in thirty years). There was a line of cars in the drive-thru But nobody inside. Some things remain The same. A polite young man patiently Waits for me to order what I don’t want. My alien daze follows Jimbo’s lead: Big Mac, fries, and a fountain Coke. Sixteen bucks covers dinner, my treat (Big spender). We sit down in the bright Red, white, and yellow glow to tie into Our late supper. It all comes back to me: The not-so-super sauce slavered on The bun, basically Thousand Island Dressing (the reason I used to order The Quarter Pounder decades ago). But the fries are tasty! Now I remember That (they’re cooked in animal fat, According to my son) and the Coke is Undrinkably sweet. Another Guinness Might make this a happy meal. We sit Burping and picking our teeth, hashing over The great audience at our reading, when— Ding-Dong—a kid comes in, maybe thirteen, Picks up a grocery bag of burgers to go, Then sits at a table by the door. One Side of his face is red from forehead to mouth, Nose to cheekbone, his watery eye puffy, Half-closed, as he fiddles with a game On his phone. It looks like he’s been crying. We walk our trays to the garbage can Across from him, ask if he’s okay. He says he is, that his mom’s on the way. “Looks like you had an accident,” I say. Barely glancing up, he tells us he’s been At the teen dance where a kid jumped him, “So I head-butted him and knocked him down. He got the worst of it!” Sniffing, sleeve wiping His runny nose, thumbs and swollen-eye Stay focused on his phone. “Good night,” we say. Mom’s on the way? Okay. Probably. Maybe. It’s hard to say what went down or what’s next. But that’s life I guess. Anyway, tonight I feel lucky we all found this place, The last, well-lit refuge for late performers Where the doors are still open after dark For drunks and orphans, any hungry souls Who need a break before heading home. ______________________________________________ Creation Myth In the beginning Is where you come in Or just what you imagine Tell me that you recall Your first creation myth That story that stilled your blood Built and banked the fire To ward off the Boogiemen Always men breathing in the dark Crawling those unknown spaces No amount of light of faith Will show you more Than what you already know That voice inside you screaming To keep making it up and play The fool is proud of you Your knack for distraction The alpha and omega feeding Our delusions on the menu Myths upon myths keep kicking cans And swatting thighs the rhythm The King cries and lies our truth Constantly shifting blame In the beginning there was no Beginning only ongoing doubt The embrace of nothing The face of God tumbling through Glorious mystery these patterns We note rolling the dice Creating ourselves in our image Of the Creator we created Our fire and our dark
Finally, this Sunday, the first of March, I was asked to read with two MFA Creative Writing students in the Second Wind Reading Series. I will join fiction writer, Story Ponvert, and non-fiction writer, Hannah Wartnik, with a handful of poems. It should be fun, a little variety of verbiage to satisfy everyone! Ta-da! And as the old dude on Hill Street Blues used to say at the end of every briefing: Take care out there!
Peace
Good way to start March. Thanks for the video reference. Hope that kid in McDonalds is OK. Reminded me of the scene from the movie Fargo where the character played by Steve Buscemi is covered in blood, holding his jaw tightly to keep his face from falling off and declares, "You should see the other guy". Wish I could be at Fact & Fiction tonight for the reading. Sláinte!