Morning, coffee, my dreams
The machine, which is life and the wheels
that spin . . .
Man, they are certainly turning
too fact.
It is almost March and the mad pace
of everyday life and the subways
are enough to make a man crazy
on his way home.
Another one of the City’s Homeless
decided to see if I or someone else
would take the bait and fight.
I did not meet this man halfway
but I did persuade him
to think differently about me
He agreed.
Either way –
The outcome for him is easy.
He gets locked up.
He gets his “Three hots and a cot,”
which means three meals
and a warm place to sleep
and me,
I get a trip to a court case
and face an unfortunate conversation
that costs money.
I have been on either a train
Or a subway for decades now.
Literally decades.
I have been part of the working world
for more than 30 years
which means if my working career
was a person, he would be the age
of a 34 year-old man –
almost 35.
What the hell is that about?
I worked with a man
who operated a freight elevator
And ran the freight car
in a commercial office building.
He did this for 40 years.
This was him.
All day and every day.
This was his routine,
sliding open a manual gate
which separated the freight elevator
from the main elevator doors.
Every day, Monday through Friday,
plus the overtime shifts,
which us union workers enjoy
because of the time-and-a-half rate,
which pads the wallet with a little extra –
I mean, God forbid
we get an extra plate of food
or supersize our happy meal
at the drive through. . .
40 years on a freight car. . .
Or to add perspective;
A man committed murder.
Did his full 20 years in prison.
Go out
Killed someone else
Went back to prison
Did his time.
Got out after doing another 20 years
And my friend Junior
was still running the same freight car|
But with no time off
For good behavior.
My man Junior –
His day was limited
to the size of his small elevator,
which is smaller
than the typical cell in most precincts—only,
at least there’s a toilet
in the holding cell.
Junior had to struggle
for his bathroom breaks . . .
All day, up and down,
door opening, door closing.
“Come on in.”
“Push in”
“Plenty of room.”
“Hurry it up!”
No wonder Junior went crazy.
He worked his life away though.
And, sad to say
or as I was told,
Junior died shortly after he retired.
I can’t let this happen to me.
I see this too much,
I see people working
their fingers to the bone
Dads missing their kids games
and Moms stuck at a job
Which they can’t stand
because who else is going to hire
someone their age?
I know too many people like this
taking extra shifts
to keep a roof above their head
and food on the table.
I see people working through lunch breaks
and missing their vacations.
I saw a picture of an old friend the other day
and to be honest, i naturally assumed –
this was their Mother but no,
this was not the case.
Age stepped in.
Decades passed . . .
And I said to myself,
“Holy Shit! That’s her?”
The lines on my face are real.
The age and the wear on my body
is not imaginary.
Not at all
My body is not the same.
My memory is not the same either.
Nothing is.
I spoke with a classroom
filled with students—most, if not all
were not alive
or born before the turn of the millennium.
You know . . .
I have to tell you something.
You and I, we didn’t age too badly.
But seriously . . .
. . . I’m not used to being older
than my doctors
I don’t want to work my life away.
I don’t ever want to grow old
or forget what it feels like
to hear music and need to dance.
I don’t want to miss another sunset
or sleep during the sunrise,
which only comes once a day
I never want to forget
what it feels like
when you are still young enough
to dance and feel alive.
( I have this idea of being dressed up,
looking good, hair slicked back
and me
dancing close to the girl of my dreams,
holding her close
to the beat of Tito Puente’s
“A Gozar Timbero” )
I can’t say that I have found
a better way to build a better mousetrap.
My finances are not in order
and neither are my affairs
I can’t say that my plan is ready
and no, I haven’t practiced my dismount
or perfected my trick
Yet. . .
But I need to.
I need to set up my strategy
because somehow,
I used to think that the future
and age is something that happens
to old people.
Well?
Here I am, aged and older.
I am alone for now
and hoping for another rendezvous,
some deeply heated romance,
passion, naked rituals,
No holds barred
and even more
I want the abandonment of my past
or my previously apprehensive self.Be well, Junior
Wherever you are
The Written Addiction 