Even One

Even One

(“Don’t be too quick to get angry because anger lives in the fool’s heart” Ecclesiastes 7:9)

You would never know when his lid would blow
spilling the scant particles of mind in rapid fashion.
He was my friend, a sort of pretending that doubles up the masks
of deception and self-preservation. One never knew the true man,
even the cracks in his character were darker than
the serrated edges around his eyes. I must apologize, Mr. Cohen,
this one time, these exact tracks never did let the light get in.)

I still ache. I am not well. I have not healed. I still shake when
no one is watching,
and my eyes swell at night while the tick-tocking pounds me awake.

There are plaques on my wall to illustrate my goodness, but now that,
10 years after the double-barrel burst from the double-masked man
I know fewer and fewer people, the radius of friends is smaller and smaller.
And, if I could have my way, I would crawl into the groundhogs’ burrow,
a solitary rodent hoping to use less breath than yesterday.

Do not be dismayed, do not attempt to heal or fix me;
some have, with the warmest intent but with results as silly
as dropping a dozen groundhogs into a hole in the ground:
and, with one short command: “Play!” and expect them to stand and dance
and ask you for more.

“It has been 10 years, son”, I hear them say. “10 years you’re still hung up on.”
And they are right, my mind, my plight, my guts sprung far too tight,
my brain ache, my shaking skin and the nighttime rest that will not
let me in…still exist. And, just for the record, since you wondered, since
you asked,
You are right, but here is my question for you:
“In those same 10 years, sir”, please hear me say, “10 years I have never heard from…

….even one.”