Last year gotta headache
which ain’t goin’ away
so some hospice doc
came to my studio
apartment because
what with falling all
the time I have not
been particularly fit
and there’s no one
to drive me in.
She examined
real quick then
bit her tongue
to say, You
must come
for tests
which I
don't
soas
after two
months more
they send out
a nurse to urge
this here GOMER**
but after whiffing
the kitchen, he says
Mr. Sarnet, your pain
in the head is just from
smelling rotting trash golly
we must deal with that now!
** Acronym for Get Out Of My Emergency Room, from the novel, House of God (1978) by Samuel Shem, pen name for a fellow internal medicine house officer at Boston’s Beth Israel Hospital. GOMERS are defined essentially as sickly old people who now, because of dementia, have lost whatever quality it is that makes someone a person. Female GOMERS were always admitted to The Rose Room where all the wilted Jewish Roses chanted Oy!Oy!Oy! in unison.
Clear sunny windswept reality
the day after a week
of straight-on rain
deep rocky gray swirling
shitty toilet bowl of
stinking sinkholes
in some from gray hostile
Pacific in all its black
blue blade steely
slate cold majestic bluster,
will I really truly will
to recommit to you
on our anniversary when
we return to Mendocino
next Thanksgiving?
Six of us left entering our second quarter century
together, a few already lost to dementia
plus death, we are a fluctuating
multi-cellular organism
that undergoes natural human aging.
Lower testosteroned biologic shifts
both costly and evolving
may be experienced as psychological sea changes
—even occasional apparent fruition
some uncontrived connectedness, intimacy.
At times I am just this bitty cork
bobbing on a less than pacific ocean
whichever way currents dictate.
No longer young palm tree fronds
hula in synch (or not) to the humid breeze’s song.
Aloha means Goodbye as well as Hello.
I felt so sorry
for Manhattanites during
Corona splurge there
confined to their small
apartments dead of winter
but now that wheel’s turned.
Discarding “see me” THC cartridge pen,
instead pen put to parchment paper,
much more measured
than if attempted in person
I raise questions whether
after so many years, we two have
a forthright friendship or are still
simply coasting acquaintances?
Do both pull our own weight,
don’t flake while the other
waits half an hour on a corner
outside chosen restaurant once again?
This dunce has been harboring discomfiting
implicit bias not yet front of mind
which feels like you sometimes violate
my personal trust—plus probably vice versa.
Waves of conflict ringing in ears
after summoning such courage to write,
will each of us step up to offer self-disclosure
and emotional support, or drift apart?
Buddies are dopers
who also use hybrid five
milligram gummies.
The bus leaves each day.
If you have the willpower,
make sure to take it.
______________________
Gerard is the first of a new group of poets coming to us from Duotrope (duotrope.com), a resource that I become aware of last week when they wrote to me to notify me that they had just listed Medusa’s Kitchen. I subsequently have received several fine submissions, including Gerard’s. So put on your best manners—we’ll be seeing some new poets in the Kitchen!
Today from 12-2pm: William O’Daly will be celebrating the life and work of his friend, poet, translator, essayist, and publisher Sam Hamill, with several other poets reading poems for, or in remembrance of, or by Sam in this Writing for Peace event (writingforpeace.org/sunday-live-readings), “Of Cascadia: A Tribute to Sam Hammill”, hosted and curated by poet and artist Juniper Moon, the current Writing for Peace artist-in-residence. Zoom: web.zoom.us/j/82093325006?pwd=aUZYTzF1MWhNakIrWXRhQ0NTOG1aZz09 Meeting ID: 820 9332 5006 (Passcode: 212396).
______________________
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