W E Patterson's avatar

you’re better off

. Uncategorized . , , . 2 Comments

sometimes when you don’t have
a job
to go to in the morning
you’re better off for it…

you say that to yourself

…as long as the 99 Subaru
kicks over and that
landlady from hell
doesn’t show up
in her paisley shorts
and lime green tube top
yelling at you over
the bougainvillea
hedge
saying she thinks
that she
saw you on the News
last night…
…she says you look like
that swindler from
Miami Gardens
who conned a
94 year old widow
out of fifty grand
last week.

Then she says

you are a
deadbeat because
you owe
six hundred twenty five
bucks
payable now…

…but you don’t think anything
of it because
you don’t have a job, and

… you’re better off for it
aren’t you?
as long as you can
make it
to that casino
… on the edge
of the Everglades
just…before dawn
…rolling up with
a 50 in-hand
ready to throw it down
in the high-limit room

two spins and you’re done
now head off
to the 2.99
breakfast buffet

…and you’re better off for it
…aren’t you?
just go home
and stuff your mail
into a neighbor’s box
and tell the guy next door
that you are moving to
Dallas in two weeks
to accept a position
in marketing for an
emerging
startup

THEN

say to yourself

you are better off for
all of this.

W E Patterson's avatar

a friend of mine is released from jail

. Uncategorized . , , , . 2 Comments

they let a friend of mine
out of jail
3 days before Christmas
this year…
…he wasn’t a bad man,
he was a fine man
in some ways

he could
quote Shakespeare
like only
an educated
old drunk can
AND
he could speak at length
about Gauguin
because he liked painting
and he enjoyed,
drinking
vodka interspersed with
the occasional glass of
old red wine

late at night

while Haydn played
on the stereo
He was…
an accomplished
Old Hippie
who had attended
Woodstock
and in his later years
he’d become
…a savvy investor
who’d lost a fortune
to Wall Street
and said he
didn’t miss any of it
not him
Citizen of the World
a guy who
enlivened
dinner parties
and
sometimes,
spoke passionately
of the simple pleasures
of life in the country
a man who enjoyed
illegal cigars
and drank wine that
few could afford,

…but he did 15 months
in the can…

he didn’t kill anyone
…didn’t rob anyone
…didn’t swindle anyone
or profess to be
a Doctor of Dentistry
or engage in a false
medical practice in some
rented garage in
Hialeah

he didn’t say
that he could
cure ailments
or heal wounds
or lead you to Jesus
he didn’t sell
dope
or guns
or religious paraphernalia
or hashish pipes
but he went to jail
anyway
…thankfully…
the
felonious
bastard…

damed old drunks
shouldn’t drive

W E Patterson's avatar

leaving Orange County

. Uncategorized . , , . Leave a comment

I was flying over Orange County
one night last year, and
…I sat next to a guy
on the airplane
who said he was the
chief executive officer
of a corporation
(can’t recall which one)
and we drank
two double scotch
whiskeys
together
as we flew over
the Grand Canyon.
“There’s the Big Ditch,” he said,
draining his plastic cup
“none bigger,” I said back

then
he told me
a joke about
the President
of the United States
and then he told me
another joke
about
someone who
I didn’t know,
…a Hollywood actress
and I laughed
tho’ I didn’t know the woman
and then he told me
that his wife had
founded her own
Foundation in the name
of her father
a saintly old fool
who’d quite by accident
made more money than
God should allow
but who had died too young
and very conveniently
…and quietly
and with no remorse
or regrets
whatsoever…

“God” I said…
“God is a good thing”
…and the CEO said God was
a fine and good thing too
…money…God
…all of it
…
and we’d laughed
because we were
both
…drunk
at 35000 feet,
…he in a fine suit
AND
me with a half-written
valise of shit
in the overhead
But
…the two of us
were rushing
together
toward the same end
just
four and a half hours
out of Cincinnati

W E Patterson's avatar

rethinking art school

. Uncategorized . , , , . 9 Comments

they want the best for us
don’t they?
like
the teacher
who told you
that your work
reminded her
of Paul Cezanne
and you thought of
that lady
in her
green hat
and you think that you
would have painted her
differently

…you would have
softened the tones
drawn her out
…pulled that amused
expression
into a bemused smile…

…but you
knew in a flash
(13 years later)
that you didn’t paint
like anyone in
particular…
you knew it then
didn’t you…

that you
couldn’t paint anything
wouldn’t paint anything
refused to paint anything
of great worth
AND
you’d fail at art
and data entry
lock smithing
and telemarketing
and finally
computer programming
and you’d come to deal
with all of that
in good time
and you’d find yourself
conveniently
the misplaced
driver of the year
for the most prestigious
trucking company in
Denver.

W E Patterson's avatar

ant problem

. Uncategorized . , , , . 4 Comments

damned ants
I stomp on them
early in the morning
as i make my way
to the coffee pot
little pests,

all
crawling in a
conga line
like cruise ship
passengers
lined up
to disembark
at Port Everglades
at about
5AM

damned ants
they shouldn’t
be here
not here
…not near
my house
this house…
sacredly built in
the Everglades
ants need
to respect
…us

after all

we’ll be here
for at least
another
fifteen years

SO
they need

to

move

W E Patterson's avatar

a poet died

. Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing . , . 8 Comments

last week, an old poet
named Herschel
(aged 79)
died in our town
he was
a man who’d faced
mighty demons
and
3 vindictive lovers
and at least 9
unforgiving employers
and no less than 23
relentless creditors
not to mention
long nights
“alone”
(for nearly 17 years)
at a bar called
the Timberline
surrounded by serious fans
who gathered nightly
to hear him read
his latest
cocktail napkin
concoction
and to applaud
his readings
and to tell him
that his words
had moved them

FAR

more than
Deepak Chopra
or the Dali Lama
…words
that must be surely
bottled and sold
shaken and stirred
and strained gently
over crushed ice
and blended
so very carefully
until their consistency
is consistent
with Kentucky bourbon…

…fine words…
…words that give comfort
to the fucked up needy
when the night
presses in hard
and the corporate benefits
are extinguished
and the wife has vanished
and the old friend
the last one that
you had on earth
is buried
and the dog is lost
and the boat has sunk
and the Visa card has
been cancelled,
the electricity cut off
and the property
condemned…

You think of him then
on a cold night
Herschel…
…damned old poet
you envy him
on his last night on earth
he just waved at the stars
and walked away

W E Patterson's avatar

You wonder

. Uncategorized . , . 2 Comments

sometimes you wake up
in the morning
and you think
about everyone who didn’t

you think
about that kid you knew
in the 8th grade who
died a couple of years ago
at age 58
from a massive coronary
on a golf course in Gulfport
and you think
about that girl from
Duluth…

…the one who wore
that very tiny
green dress
to the prom
and you wonder
how she’d look
today
if she hadn’t
drank a 4th
Tom Collins
at the North Star
that night…

…AND

(you think of)
the girl from
East Hennepin who was lost
and presumed dead
on Lake Erie
in a storm
about 23 years ago
(accompanied by)
her husband,
…the sailor

and you seriously
think about
the priest
who married you to
your first wife,
and how he must have felt

when he died in an avalanche

in Yosemite
three years ago
and you wonder why

As you are staring
at that face in the mirror
with the whiskers
tinged grey
and
you wonder
if you’d look like
Hemingway
if you grew it out
or

if the damned thing
would just get the best
of you too

 

W E Patterson's avatar

Sandhills expedition

. Uncategorized . , , , . 4 Comments

don’t kiss me good-night
— tonight
sweet Nebraska
don’t let me
die in search
of that
elusive Valentine
don’t call me
names for the sake
of trying to change
my mind
don’t call the place
I’m in – devoid
of sensory pleasure
don’t call the road
I’ve travelled – sublime
or call me one of the
fortunate few,
and
don’t read the last
words that I wrote
to you and
call it literature
or the last poem
I wrote for you
and whisper
the last 4 lines
to me from the comfort
of
your cellular phone
from your loft in
San Francisco
or from your cabin
in Oregon
…so, just let me be
here
in
sweet Nebraska
with its golden half moon
pushing up over
Scotts Bluff
with Wyoming
being its own same self
to the west
and the wind from
Manitoba wafting through
the open windows
of the 1970 Travelall
let me pitch my tent
in the shadow of
Highway 20
…underfed lanky coyotes of
doom howl
in the distance,
give me one more
night
before I go home.

W E Patterson's avatar

great aunt

. Uncategorized . , . 3 Comments

Libby
who moved
to Sun City
to live with
her 3rd husband
a retired driver for
Consolidated Freightways
told me that she
recently
found a coiled rattler
near her pool slider
and a scorpion
sleeping on the gravel path
alongside her garage
and she suspected that
wild animals had
infected Demetrius’
food bowl
(her Pomeranian)
and that Nip’s
water dish
(her Siamese)
was compromised
in some way
so
she said that
the lifestyle
that she had imagined
when she was a girl
growing up in
Manhattan, Kansas
had evaded her
and now
as she approached
age sixty seven
her expectations had collapsed
due to the uncertain
and turbulent
housing market
and the unavailability
of jobs in the
hospitality industry
and she told me
quite discretely
that she suspected
anti-government activity
in the desert south of town