One Ringer

One Ringer
by: j.l. carey jr.


The clock loomed high on the wall above the phone. It hung there like the moon over a grave on an old B movie poster. Ominous. I could feel the second hand crawling with the sweat down my back. It was hot as hell in that room, but I couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

“So do you have any kids?” he said, breaking Luna’s silent ticking.

“Um. Yes. Yes I do,” I told him. “I have a daughter.”

“Yeah,” he said, rolling his head from the ceiling to the floor.

“Yes,” I replied. “And do you?”

“I have three.” He grinned. “Three boys.”

I smiled at him awkwardly. “They must be a handful.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“I can imagine three is. My daughter is hard enough to handle and she is only one kid.”

“How old is your daughter?” he asked, with some stern intrigue in his voice.

“She is seven. But, she thinks that she is fifteen,” I added.

“Isn’t that the truth? The man laughed.

I smiled and asked him how old his sons were. The question seemed to stunt his laugh.

“Ahh. Well, my boys are all grown now.”

“Really! Are any of them married?”

“To be honest with you, I wouldn’t know. We haven’t spoken in years. I don’t think they give two shits about me. I can’t blame’m though. After their mother and I divorced I wasn’t much of a father to them. I spent most of my time working.”

I froze for a moment as a beeping went off. Fear and adrenaline charged through me before I realized that it was only the timer on my watch. My brain seemed to cramp as I asked myself why? Why had I allowed myself to get involved in this chaos? Why?

With a breath of relief I shut the watch off and then double-checked it again to make sure. Still bug-eyed, I glanced up at that clock. That damned clock, Luna in orbit. Then turning back to him I said, “I’m sorry. My watch startled me. I always forget to shut it off so every day it beeps at 4:50. You would think that I would be use to it by now.” I gave him a half-laugh that was quite fraudulent and he returned one to me that was equally unbelievable.

“So, what’s your daughter’s name?” he asked as if my little outburst had never taken place.

“Her name is Gabriella or, or Gabby for short.”

“Does her name fit her?”

“What’s that?”

“Does her name fit her? You know the name Gabby. Does it fit her personality?”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, she will talk to you till no end.” I chuckled at my own inability to get what he was saying. “She will ask you questions to the point of insanity also.”

“Yeah. I remember when my boys were like that.”

“Yes. I remember just the other day my daughter asked me how cars moved so fast. I told her that it was the engine of course. She asks then how does the engine work. I say it uses gas. Well how does it use gas and on and on. Finally I had to tell her enough was enough.”

“You do. Sometimes you have to stopp’em or they’ll just keep going.”

“Yes. Yes.” I caught myself staring at the clock again and then the phone. I didn’t want to look at the phone, but I did. Why did I look at it? Why was I even here at all? I should be at home right now. I never should have got involved. I tried to cloud my mind with reassurance. Thoughts of how life would be once this was all over and I had the money to provide a good life for my family. I rubbed my hands on my eyes to try and break the spell. “I’m sorry what was that?”

“I said kids can be pretty unpredictable with what they come up with.”

“Oh. Yes, they can be. Life itself can be pretty unpredictable though.”

“Yeah, sometimes. Although, I think life in general can be pretty predictable. You’re born, you live and then you die. The rest is just filler and even most of that is predictable. I think that’s why most peoples lives become boring and monotonous.”

“Perhaps? Perhaps they only believe their lives are boring and choose to ignore the possibilities that surround them though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes I think it’s the easy way for people to live their simple and monotonous lives. They think that everything is the same old same old even when it is not.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s like when a family member is killed in a car crash. Everyone feels the loss of that person at first, but with in no time at all they’ve moved on. They go right back to Monday night football and P.T.A. meetings and it’s as if that person never existed.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point. Don’t you think your daughter would miss you if you were gone though?”

“Yes. Yes of course. She would be sad for a while, but she would move on in time and go right back to playing Barbie’s with her friends.”

“Don’t you think that it would have a tremendous impact on her life?”

“Yes.”

“It would probably change her personality and her entire outlook on life.”

“Yes. Probably”

“I bet it’s even safe to say…”

Brrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnngggggggg. It came. What I had feared and prayed against since the night my fate was decided, when I was the one who had been picked to stay back. It had come. The phone had wrung.

I looked at the clock, Luna and her second hand was pulling fast away from the five, as if she were gesturing a wave goodbye. That cold sweaty feeling rushed over me again, as I stood up. I slid my hand into the pocket of my jacket and felt the cold metal of my revolver. I don’t remember firing it. There was only the smell of the gun and Jon’s head drooping over his now lifeless body. His hulking frame strapped in the chair with the black mask covering his eyes, still blocking out his true whereabouts or perhaps now he saw everything perfectly clear? That we had stolen him away from his plush home in the middle of the night and that no one cared enough to get him back. “I am sorry my friend. I guess your sons didn’t give two shits about you.”

Brrrrrrrriiiiiiiinnnnnnnngggggggg. Brrrrrrrriiiiiiiinnnnnnnngggggggg. Brrrrrr.

“Hello?” I answered with terror and shock in my voice.

“Pete! Who in the hell were you on the phone with?”

“I wasn’t on the phone with anyone?”

“Just shut up and listen to me. We got the money, now…”

“You didn’t give me the one ringer?” I interrupted. The sweat and cold seemed a transport to darkness.

“No we didn’t give, wait--tell me you didn’t! Tell me you didn’t!”

“You didn’t give me the one ringer!”

There was another shot. The receiver swung, hanging from the cord. The clock looming--Luna high above the madness. Her second hand still twisted, but the minute hand rested on two after.

You'll Never Walk Alone

Ralph Nader For President

Yesterday I was quite pleased to hear that Ralph Nader would be running for president in 2008. He is the only candidate that I have ever truly believed could make a difference. If elected he would prove to be the greatest president since Abraham Lincoln. He is the only candidate that would institute any real reform and change, not just spew a bunch of rhetoric about it. He is a man for the people and always has been. He understands that NAFTA has failed and needs to be changed. He is a firm consumer advocate. He has a realistic plan for fixing healthcare in our country and he's just one hell of an American.

Vote Nader 2008.

www.votenader.org
www.nader.org

Road of Ruin

Road of Ruin

My broccoli mind once flourished with visions
Garden gathered ideals of sun fed import
But devil time shaved ever at the florets

Potholes formed along the folds of grey matter
Cobblestone roads of memories stained rust red
Skull lumps mapped out troublesome finger readings

Resolved I blacktopped over the maudlin street
Pressed my sparsely greens into books for keepsakes
Then plowed on under melancholy blue moon


2-10-08

The Leech Field

The Leech Field



In the leech field their withering cash cow lie,
Bloated worms clinging like scarlet silhouettes
In hopes the bovine may one day rise again

To suckle once more America’s heartbeat,
Her gluttonous pulse so sweet and fattening
Never minding what their fathers had endured

Old sit downers of the oleaginous hell
Who long held mighty Cerberus by the tail,
Only for their heirs to let it slip away

2-5-08

One Fell Stroke



The platelets clotted within those musty walls
Jaggedly standing with the peeling led paint
Thirty year old fixtures of the artery

Clabbered blood still trying to eek its way through
But the stretching walls grow ever more brittle
Corrosion binding to its coalesced innards

One more stint to keep the butter coming home
One more before the old three cut the life line
And send our stymied souls down the river Styx


1-20-2008
The first poem of a collection recently started and tentatively titled Tercet By Moonlight

The Almond Window

Today while rummaging through the web, looking for fodder to sketch, I stumbled upon this eye. It caught my gaze and seemed to look right into me and as I looked back I saw something more than just an eye. I saw my self. It made me think of how our friend Jim once said poets write about the strangest and simplest things.

The Almond Window

I settled into that gazing pool
Where pain and pleasure cumulated
Like ions on a retinal rod

Stealing x-rays of my inner shade
A keepsake devil caught to display
Within that pretty almond window

For just a breath my pulse quickened
While some cathexis penetrated
And wooed me into woolgathering

A wink would have killed the glassy mood
But alas your shutter is affixed
To capture all these charmed immersions

12-14-07

The Tale of the Monkey and the Midget

The Tale Of The Monkey And The Midget

Inspired by the poetry of Li Po www.poemhunter.com/i/ebooks/pdf/li_po_2004_9.pdf


Lole couldn’t quite remember when the monkey first appeared. He knew Joey showed up shortly after though. His confidant, Joey was someone he could tell anything and repeatedly did. In fact, they spent countless evenings sitting on the couch together, Lole talking as Joey listened. He was a great listener.

On these occasions the monkey fed them beers. He was perfectly trained. An empty never hit the table before a cold one replaced it and as he took the empty there was always the cheerful eek-eek or drink-drink. .

Lole could never really tell what the monkey was saying, but tended to lean towards drink-drink. This was reinforced by Joey’s approving nod. The questionable gesture was pleasant, but Joey never spoke and simply nodded yes to everything. A tendency Lole seemed to overlook.

On occasion the three would dance, though Joey never really left the couch. His legs were at the most thirteen inches long and would simply swing like metronomes from the sofa. This was a smart move on the midget’s part for the monkey always tended to break something, which, Lole was invariably blamed for.

The monkey, who was affectionately named Jo Jo after the Beatles song, had placed many a strain on Lole's relationships with family and friends. Even the loss of his wife could be blamed away by the antics of the monkey. Still, Lole always chose Jo Jo when it came down to making the tough decision.

Maybe it was their long and strange history or the fact that Jo Jo still wore that cute little clown suit. Whatever the reason, Jo Jo prevailed while the others moved into Lole's clouded past. The monkey, in his opinion, was worth any amount of aggravation because, unlike the others, Jo Jo always suffered with him through the hardest times. This, Lole thought, was the very essence of true friendship.

At times, Lole would find himself out at the bar with other friends. His mind though was always with the monkey and the midget. They never teased him like his other friends. The chiding he took from them was relentless. Sure, Lole gave it back as much as he got it, but nothing pained him so much as the kidney jokes.

After an onslaught of kidney infections, tests, antibiotics and rigamarole from doctors, Lole learned he only had one kidney. This immediately spawned a series of jokes about waking up in a bathtub full of ice and being the victim of kidney thieves. But, there was no scar, so it was later assumed that aliens had extracted the organ through a certain orifice. The missing kidney and potential probing caused Lole to be the butt of endless razzing.

It was "never you worry" though Lole always said, taking life with a grain of salt, tequila and beer chaser. "Never you worry." This staunch philosophy was the trio's credo. Three simple words to live by.

Lole had first found himself in this delusional hakuna ma tata on the municipal golf course. His buddies had challenged him to a game of beer golf. The rules were simple. Subtract two from the par of the hole, meaning, par 5: three beers, par 4: two beers and par 3: one beer.

By the fifth green Lole had pounded his way to two under par and had resorted to using tees on the fairway. Most of his balls had been lost in the woods due to the distracting chatter of the monkey. At this point Jo Jo had been elusive, untamed, a wild creature tempting fate.

Lole had spent many an afternoon trying to catch the Panamanian primate, but to no avail. On that day though he had just tried to ignore him, but the imp patronized Lole on every stroke. To make matters worse someone drove off with his golf cart.

As he heard the cart pull away, Lole dashed towards it making an inebriated dive. Unfortunately the lunge was successful and to everyone’s amazement he held on to the bumper as he was dragged around the course. Finally the culprit cut sharply sending him rolling into the sand trap on the seventh hole.

Grass stained and covered in sand, Lole turned over. His body aching as the sun burned in his eyes and at that moment he wished he could just lay there and die. This is when Jo Jo appeared over him, bouncing with that playful eek eek and in his hand was the beer Lole had dropped.

This is how Jo Jo came to stay with Lole. Through all of the menacing hard ships of everyday living this friend had the ability to do more than just save his beer. This friend, this monkey, had the ability to make him forget his woes, in fact, he was distraction made manifest. Drink-drink.

That night Lole drank till the beer went down like water and all the while the monkey danced. He danced till the fridge was empty, till the sun sliced through the blinds, till all the bubbling molecules in their heads fell dark and unconscious.

At 1:42 pm Lole awoke to find he had soiled himself. To make matters worse he discovered his universal remote had been smashed into several pieces. He had been sleeping with his cheek pressed against the keypad; ironically the stop button had left the most noticeable of impressions on his face. After some tinkering with the pieces he gave up all hope of keeping the batteries in properly and resorted to duct tape, something Lole found to be a useful fix all.

Joey had introduced him to this remedy one evening after the monkey had broken Lole’s card table. The jocular primate had become quite rambunctious and, after urinating off the balcony, made a mad dash for the player’s pile of poker chips. Needless to say, Lole’s attempt to prevent this course of action placed him face down on the table.

With a crash, poker chips were hurled to the farthest reaches of the apartment. This was accompanied by a barrage of insults to Lole and a couple of smacks as he rose amidst the scattered Hoyle’s and foaming beer bottles. He tried pointing to Jo Jo, who had returned to the balcony, but the players just kept on razzing him, picking up what was left of their game.

This is when Joey appeared, duct tape in hand, a little guy with big ideas. He had been sitting quietly on the couch all evening and then, to Lole’s relief, Joey waved his hand to the bunch then went about repairing the leg of the table with him. After a few minutes the table was up, the game restored and Lole found himself sitting on the couch with his new best friend and a couple of ice cold ones.

Now, he sat at his table, tape still holding, realizing he was alone. The monkey, likely out terrorizing the neighborhood and Joey, only god knows. One thing was certain though, they would return. His two friends always did.

On the third day of his friends disappearance Lole had a recollection. A fuzzy thought came to mind like a radio station just out of range. Bits and pieces came followed by intermittent bouts of static. Halloween night? Jo Jo in a torn up clown suit. Was there a fight?

The images perplexed him on the way to work. Sweat broke out of every pore as he barreled along. A cold beer would be nice, but then his stomach wrenched. Where was Joey he wondered, wiping the perspiration from his face? Then it hit him, like the night of the incident, that terrible pain in his bowel churning and sheering. There was no time to react, to pull over.

The explosion instantly filled his BVD’s, saturating the gray cloth upholstery through to the foam cushioning of the seat. Lole now sat in a pool of shit. It was unimaginable how much fluid the body could release. To further aggravate Lole’s situation, the stench was overpowering to the point of nausea. Turning back towards home was his only option.

It was on this torturous venture back that Lole recalled that dismal falling out. Weeks of benders had led to months of solid drunkenness, which, came to a head that loathsome Halloween.

Incoherent, the threesome had consumed far more than any man could hold. Parts of Lole’s body had begun to shut down due to the damage. And so, unable to control his bowels, the unfortunate had crapped his pants at the bar. This caused the monkey to fall into a riotous fit of laughter.

All the laborious way to the restroom, Jo Jo taunted him. Joey, like a crutch beneath Lole’s armpit, helped him stagger into the stall. The men’s room rang with the shrill laugh of the monkey as Lole attempted to clean himself. Tears welled in his eyes as he shouted at the monkey to stop, to shut up, to get the hell away from him and then it happened.

Jo Jo, with his teeth flared like ivory daggers, snatched the soiled drawers. His first fling sent a large spatter across the mirror as Lole tried to pull his pants back up. The attempt was in vein though for it only caused him to fall on his face, his pants twisted about his knees. The second fling was aimed at Joey, who evasively ducked behind the stall as it spattered.

Lole screamed, “I hate you. I hate you. Just go away. I freaking hate you.” As he lay sobbing on the floor.

The monkey, chest heaving, made a final fling, sending the loaded skivvies into the fan above the stall. Choking, the small rotor heaved for a moment and then broke loose. Feces spiraled about the restroom as Jo Jo ran out. This was the last he saw them. The monkey, his clown hat tipped to one side, running out of the men’s room. Joey, cautiously opening the door, looking around and then slipping out.

One week later, he soberly sat at home. Outside a storm raged. Wind lashing at the sliding door, hurling bursts of rain against the glass. In the dark room Lole meditated on the sofa, one week dry he thought, hands trembling as thunder shook the apartment. One week he thought again as lightning flashed, illuminating the eerie silhouette of the monkey.

In the corner, Jo Jo stood hidden and quiet. As the lightning flared again, Lole could just make out the terrible look on the creatures face. Anger built wildly in the monkey’s eyes. “Drink-drink”. It said from the dark.

“No.” Lole cried out, but the monkey persisted.

“Drink-drink. Drink-drink.” It railed, taking a step towards him.

“No.” He screamed, closing his eyes to it and then came a startling dull shot.

When Lole opened his eyes he found Joey standing with a throw pillow and a smoking revolver. On the floor the monkey lay dead. “Problem solved.” His friend said smiling. Then to Lole’s surprise, several midgets entered the room. Like little mafia style Oompa Loompa’s they marched in, never speaking a word as they rolled the tiny clown corpse up in a rug. Never a sound as they cleaned the evidence from the room.

Even as the crew left not a tiny sound was uttered. With a nod and a wave Joey smiled once more, closing the door behind them. A sense of freedom filled Lole as the door clicked shut. Freedom, he felt, as he walked out onto the back porch, breathing in deeply. The rain rolling off into the distance, the earth cleansed, freedom.

Doug's First Cage Match

Digging

Digging



Franklin N.C. was like any old pit
Natural beauty pocked with poverty
Lacklustering in gross inequity

We traipsed about in the staining red clay
Hoping to unearth some brilliant jewel,
Black dust or even a small flake of gold

Avoiding those loose roadside slews in town
Who’s salted pails sat pre-marked and rationed
With the lapidarists shards and discards

Digging in the crystal cold mountain air
We found something grander than pink sapphires
Something worth more than any carrot weight

That grit in our teeth and below the nails
While reminiscing with Norm the mine hand
We struck that rich vein to humanity