Hurt again
My back this time
not saving a child from a rushing train
not street-fighting a pimp
not even wrestling a grizzly
no: making the bed
when all of a sudden
what I fear re: age
– not bent with pain
supping on poorhouse gruel
– but gruel, pain
and no story to tell.
There’s got to be a reason
Home alone when the phone rings:
guy asks if I’m me and I am
and he’s him, do I know him
– no, he doesn’t know me either
but found a piece of paper
with my name and phone number
in his wallet
he pauses pregnant
and I can’t leave him hanging
like that so I say oh
yeah so I was wondering
how come I got this piece of paper
with your name and number in my wallet
pause
I don’t know (see above)
well there must be some reason –
I mean it’s your name and number
in my wallet
yeah I don’t know
like were we somewhere
at some place and you gave me
your name and number
I can’t recall
’cause it’s your name and number
so what’s it doing in my wallet
that’s a tough one
well like what are you into
what am I into
yeah well like what are you into y’know like
well I play music
oh! I play banjo and guitar, Bluegrass –
what do you play
some guitar some harp
well are you any good
nothing special
l mean do you do gigs and stuff
sometimes
oh – we should get together
and jam
yeah sure
maybe next week some time
I write his name and number
on a scrap of paper for some reason
and stick it in my wallet.
James Thurgood was born in Nova Scotia, grew up in Windsor, Ontario, and now lives in Calgary, Alberta. He has been a labourer, musician, and teacher – not necessarily in that order. His poems have appeared in various journals (most recently, Broadkill Review, Umbrella Factory, Quatrain Fish), anthologies, and in a collection (Icemen/Stoneghosts, Penumbra Press). He is also the author of His Own Misfortune, a work-in-progress. (thurgoodwordsalad.blogspot.com/)
Bindweed Magazine 