Kickstart

You dip your hand in the pomade can

Spread it around in your palm to warm it up

Stare down your reflection, that bastard right there

Run your hands or a comb through your graying hair

You try not to scratch that healing tattoo

The one with her name and the text “RIP”

Grimace, sneer, exhale and deal

Busy your fingers with less damaging tasks

Pull on your shoes, and lace them tightly

Remind yourself, again, that you’re due for a polish

Cast off your care with a raised upper lip

Knock your heels together; make your feet go tock-tock

Kick-start that bike on the second or third try

Twist the throttle for good measure, to keep it alive

Flash your annoyance at the scratches in the chrome

Get on; insert headphones; brain bucket; roll out

You zigzag through traffic in the late afternoon

Nearby stereos go ting-ting, doom-doom

Concentrate on the hazards, on the roadway ahead

Those left behind are out of your hands

Park on the sidewalk; then kill the motor

Take off your helmet, and enter the bar

Wince as the stale air hits your nose

Switch the neon “open” sign on

Pull the plastic wrap off the bottles, and start the CD spinning

Listen to those songs and sounds for the millionth time

Sigh audibly; mutter along with Hank Williams

Bury, bury yourself in routine

Take the top off the tub of bar mix and pretzels

Handful at a time, enjoy your first meal

Choke back the memories as you chew crunchy carbohydrate

Try not to think about the last two weeks

It started with a diagnosis and ended so quickly

She had cancer they said, and then she was gone

When she took her last breath, you couldn’t but wonder

How long they would let you hold onto her hand

Your scream, cries and protests granted you privilege

So you stood by as they removed the machines

They cleaned her and wrapped her, in a painstaking manner

Transferred her body to a gurney, and took her away once more

The funeral went by like a headlight at nighttime

Flashed before your eyes, burning the moment into time

You sat in the front and tried to comfort her mother

But nobody was there to take care of you

Yesterday the barrel made it almost to your mouth

It went click-clack as you wracked in a round

You closed your eyes as your finger found the trigger

Anxious just to see her again

Beads of sweat pushed through your pores

You held your breath as you prepared for departure

Stalling when your teeth first touched metal

The front door creaked, and only the moment was killed

For whatever reason, you unloaded the thing

Stuck it back in the office’s top left desk drawer

Turned, walked out to greet the morning’s first customer

Went through the motions for another long day

Today you pledged to stay out of the office

The shot glass goes clink-clink when the bourbon bottle kisses its lip

A regular, Ronnie, walks in from the garish daylight

“Cheers” he exclaims, as you throw it back

Every Tuesday, like clockwork, he comes in alone

Paper in hand; he then sits and reads

You keep his pints coming, slow though they go

Few words are spoken, but you’re friends just the same

In spring of last year, Ronnie’s mate died of cancer

A man named Jerry, or so you’ve been told

Ronnie may be a fag, but it really doesn’t matter

The sadness in his eyes transcends such distinctions

You throw back another shot and change out the CD

Hank Williams becomes Costello, the only Elvis you know

“Oliver’s Army” goes da da dun dun

You go to pour your sorrow, version three-point-oh

Ronnie hasn’t budged since he came in and sat down

Other than to turn a page, or to take a sip

Nothing but surprise when his hand reaches to stop you

Even more when he starts to speak

Ronnie’s hand meets yours and you put down the bottle

He looks up and searches your mind with his eyes

He clears his throat then tells you his wisdom

“Don’t do what I did, or it’ll never go away.”

At the end of the night it’s lights out and lock up

Kick-start that beast until it moans to life

Bump down the curb and start the short ride home

Freeway speed on city streets; caution to the wind

Tomorrow you’ll do the same thing as today

Maybe fewer drinks; heeding Ronnie’s somber advice

But you’re not convinced it’s the booze that’s the reason

That doom in your chest won’t ever subside

Lay your head down on the pillow after a long shower

The scalding hot water spat down on your skin

You close your eyes, but they might as well be open

What follows will not be rest, and most assuredly not your dreams