MY LASTING AVERSION
TO
LIGHT YEARS AND
LUST
The man's scrawly hand left a message on
the window grime - 'I would want to either
discuss this or kill you.' A Hallmark Card
only by degrees. He called himself Zou-Zou
and went to great ends to make it work.
'I have a lasting aversion to light years
and to lust, just the same and together
separate. Doesn't matter. When I wing a
turkey, that turkey stays winged.'
-
How can one deal with this stuff? If I was
a Detective Bob Eddy or someone like that,
I'd suppose I could just take him down; telling
him, 'your on my case-load now buddy, and this
is taken as a threat and I'm bringing you in.'
Would that work, I wonder? As it is, I am a
layman with but a skillful aversion to early
death or to being wounded in the foul pursuit
of someone else's homicidal goals. 'I'll sign
whatever you wish, just get this bastard gone.'
-
That was all imagined; it never worked out that way.
He was my friend when we were nine. I remember him
at sixteen, getting his first taste of a girl and trying to
tell me about it. Then, at twenty-three, he was in
Vietnam, 'lifting a leg,' he said, 'to piss on a gook'.
Then, no contact for over thirty years. And now this -
he's in that dead-man box in the funeral home,
out there somewhere too, with his stick, poking
his holes in the cosmos, I guess.
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