Whereabouts

Painting and Prose by Rick Mobbs
Rearranged by Glenn Buttkus


Whereabouts

So we smashed
like acrobats,
a mess of arms and legs
and heads and backs,
spinning through the flaming hoops
to meet the leaping,
happy cats
and all those clowns
in human suits,
and all their senseless chatter.

The main stage crashed
without a sound,
the lights in popping strings
came down.
The tents and poles ablaze
and we threw whiskey
on the flames.
Who ever would have guessed?
We blew up our little mess.

We fell just shy
of Kingdom Come,
smoking wisps
of greasy carbon,
mauled and roasted but,
somehow,
still breathing.

I took the Silver Meteor,
you took the Silver Star.
The rolling wheels
on the clackity tracks
and time to think
but blankety blank,
with darkening brow
and only love
and hate
to break my fast,
and fear was all I had
for lunch
and the train dropped me
in Boston.

Walking wounded,
psychically scarred,
bankrupt of cash,
bankrupt of love,
eviscerated human stumps,
born to hump
and hump and hump and hump,
still guiding by the stars.
The rule of hate was short,
thank god.

We would meet
but never mend,
in the time apart
too much began.
I lost the maiden
all forlorn,
the kids
the cars
the house
the home.
For the land
where we were matched
and mated,
like sugar in the rain
dissolved
and faded,
and we dissolved
soon after.

I found myself
in losing you.
You opened the door
and smashed me through.
I skidded across
those holy floors
and tumbled
into the basement noise
to be healed
by grizzled laughter.

And now
you are beautiful
as a tree
in the wind,
I love to see you
twist and bend,
a strong and able,
beautiful survivor.
I wish you desert kings
and airplane wings,
arid lands
and silver springs,
vroom! vroom!!
vroom!!!ing kids on bikes
and friends
with a gift for laughter.

We tie ourselves
to the turning wheel.
Scars do soften
and reveal
what we were,
how we did feel,
and the walking lights beside us,
guide us,
and whisper
who we are.

Rick Mobbs