Writer’s Tuesday

Suppose I did this for a living, could I keep up the pace? Or would I shrink into a mis-shaped curl, laptop open on my chest, supported by my knees, feet down upon my recliner, footrest up, tethered to the juice in the wall by the white wire lifeline keeping my batteries up? Would I become a wallflower of non-social encounters, talking to only our cats daily, when I feed them, clean their boxes, fetch their fresh water? I dunno…my Tuesday customer messaged me last night Monday, to cancel out, No Problem, I can finish the Richmond gate job instead, or install the shed job in Benicia, or…write my column, or there are two great old poems to find for the First Tuesday Poetry reading tonight. Two old poems, older than 2010, so they’re NOT on this laptop or its predecessors, they exist only on the archaic System 9.3 Mac machine upstairs which has no USB port to anything on this planet…So it’s find them somewhere on hard copy and completely re-keyboard them from scratch…Ugh, but I did it.

Tuesday Morning Lovely

A lady called and cancelled
our appointment for today –
That’s OK I didn’t want to paint
her wall where her couch
came apart a different day,
three years ago last Fall.

I downloaded the photos
of the work I did last week,
passed all the Inspector’s questions,
I’ll send ya an e-mail, take a peek.
Gotta column I have to write,
gotta new song to sing,
Tuesday Morning Lovely,
never know what the e-mail brings.

Tuesday Morning Lovely
brings a change in the weather,
not half as hot as yesterday’s Devil’s nasty leather –
Got some computer work to do,
scheduled work for the rest of the week,
take a break now at 6 am,
nap and forget I know how to speak.
©Peter Bray 9/2017

Marbles is a Good Game

Just before he died he lost his marbles.
Sometimes they’d leave in a group.
Other times just for laughs,
He’d make words from the letters in his soup –
Just before he died he lost his marbles.

He started driving erratic in traffic,
Like maybe he’d misplaced
The rules of the road.
Other times he passed
Trees along the street,
Then gave them the finger
For traveling far too slow.
Just before he died he lost his marbles.

So if you see me coming,
Wave and say hello –
And if you find my marbles,
Please let me know.
I should be retired and a good game
Is a fun thing, ya know?
Marbles is a good game to know.
©Peter Bray 9/2017

From The Land Where Nobody Goes

Aw, Man, it was out there!
Out in the Land Where Nobody Goes.
It was even further out than the Dump Road.

It begins just off the highway,
the very last turnoff before the bridge.
It meanders past the big, wide-open ditch,
straight as an errant bullet shot
through the last stop sign,
the above-ground petroleum pipes,
and the idle, graffiti’d train tanker cars –
Then it passes even the Dump Road
turnoff itself where the Tacos truck stands,
the graveled pull-off area where
grey dust is served along with hot tacos sauce.

Then up and over the first set of hills,
past a few scraggily un-named trees,
too thin to even bend in the breeze,
and then it hooks left and right again,
and disappears to the east falling off
perhaps at the edge of the earth or the county,
whichever comes first or last.
Out where wildebeests and cougars
still walk unendingly looking for
lunch and dinner too…
Some petroleum truck
went out there once,
but no one ever phoned
to say that it arrived
or where the hell was it?
©Peter Bray 2007

Best Poem I Ever Wrote

The best poem I ever wrote
came through me like a freight train,
there wasn’t time to find paper or pen,
so I just got out of the way and let it come.
I watched and listened to the screeching
of the wheels on the rails,
the rocking of the cars line by line,
and the thunder, smoke, and wonder of it all.
Then it went away as fast as it had come.
And I just stood there in wonder,
awed by it all.
©Peter Bray 2007

Peter Bray lives, writes, and works in Benicia,
and has written this column since 2008.