Chronicles of an 80’s Childhood: In Segments

CHRONICLES OF AN 80’S CHILDHOOD IN SEGMENTS OF MAGIC & MISERY IN THOUGHTS & RECOLLECTIONS

1)The paint chipping in the corners
As rain eats through the roof
Just to die slowly and innocent in the threads of the carpet
In between insults to my mother,
A dad peels at the windowpane
Removing windblown leaves, perhaps Maple

2) Hugged into the affection of butterflies,
Springtime warmth gives you hope, away from home
Sips of Coca-Cola from the drug store tap
We chase the bouncing rainbows,
In the fields of everlasting breeze
Kids shouldn’t walk like Van Gogh,
Like at home
Evading humanity,
living brisk and trying to take all the art as yours
To live in your world

3) So, we sequestered ourselves
To the shadow feelings under beds
Overseeing hallway lights
Hear the yells mash against the walls,
Leaving bruises,
abandoned hauntings
Wishing back to Summer prairies in damp sunlight,
bicycle races

4) We hear the breaking of heartbeats
Boredom of fictitious harmony
Hisses of air circulating in the stomach,
our water pipes
A whirring sound of discomfort
We see a melting slime moon
drip gelatinous from the coven of night

5) In the cold, oh so cold
The skin of my lips,
little semicolon shapes, so sore
The kitchen smells of chicken soup broth
& rotten mistletoe
Clashing smells of irony
Hear the voices now?
Wicked wind breath?

6)We reached the apex of a good day
A bit of sunlight
Family laughter
Then the mix of chemicals and weather
A new thunderstorm
Hides
To make broken paperdolls in the closet
Tears like rain
Belt buckle whips like a popping of dynamite
to innocent ears

7) As we are dreamers
We orient ourselves in situations
From love to nightmares
Trying to convert the life in the middle as normalcy
Then you looked to the clouds
They are shaped like bears and spiders
Uneven we are,
much like when the sunlight blades hit the Earth

8)Sunburned hands,
Feels like razor blade cuts on my palms
We ride on the bikes
Bleeding and all with dirt canvas masterpieces as faces
Freckled and demure
Kicks to bend in oil cans, and still we are doing somersaults
Across sharp lawns of grass

9)After hours,
once asleep
He comes home after intermingling
with the other sheet metal workers
That smelled of perfume
We jump off the beds for a hug in our cartoony pajamas
We find ourselves instead
heading to bus stops
Eating Taco Bell
handled by old maids with band aid hands
We have left

PART TEN:
LIFE IN THE 90’S, HER LIFE

In small cities everywhere there are delusional Kerouacs
And ladies with reptilian tongues
So, now we are in seclusion
Splitting bullets in separations
A crimson evening gown from 4 sizes ago
Resting in a closet,
by hidden money
Suffocated in a dry cleaning bag
The dress could be sold,
no departing
The memories of a happier time
Left cobwebs of a family
No parties with friends,
no dance to be danced
Her home behind the train tracks
Spooky whistles every night
She lay in darkness
Lost minutes to this breathless curse
Fainthearted when putting on make-up
To the grocery store down the street
She’ll stumble over the gravel in her boots
The stars look murdered
Running home with torn grocery bags
Cries out to the weaving halos
Agoraphobia in Eden