Something Sinister Going On

 

 

I’m one guy sitting in a chair, you’re a bunch of guys

on the street, screaming, chanting,

“Death to this” and “Death to that”

You’re always so angry

You should try being calm, letting go, own a pet, quit caffeine

I don’t smoke—maybe you should be more like me

A person like me enjoys bacon, pork chops, corned beef hash,

eggs over easy, French fries, woodwork, girls in bikinis,

Netflix, instant coupons, running, camping, Coney dogs,

souvenir coffee mugs, cable survivor shows, oak trees, rivers,

the country, family reunions in Corpus Christi,

the Detroit Lions, voting, complaining about voting,

deep-fried Oreo cookies, rodeos, state fairs, baseball,

and apple pie—

I know, I know, how American of me!

It’s true

I could stand to lose five pounds, I can turn off the war,

I can afford to be peaceful

Did I tell you about my grandfather who died from the same bombs

you are raising your fists at?

You know, my father’s piece of sky is in the same time zone

as yours

Something’s happening

I can feel it—can you feel it?

It’s like two drops of water coming together and then the flood,

like seeing through the right eye

and then the left, back and forth, one eye then the other,

a headache, really, if you try

It is 5:35, outside my window a tree is blossoming

Maybe this is why I want to compare you with birds

Except, seeing you I do not think nightingales

or ruby-throated hummingbirds

Who ever heard of such a thing, turning grown men into birds?

You’re restless like bees—I’m restless, you’re restless

We are one and the same

We are getting close, at least

Let me be clear about what is happening:

I’m here, you’re there—

The trees are blossoming—

Red birds flash past my window

I can’t help but think of fire

I see a mob, men holding matches to the trunks of trees,

a row of fire ants marching past

A burning tree, you know, is like a redhead on fire, except

a tree does not scream

and even trees without leaves survive

It is midnight, and all the trees are gone

This is mayhem

You’re making it impossible for me to live

You want to take this outside?

I didn’t think so

Cowards the lot of you

Flying airplanes into buildings

Bunch of yellow-bellies

My wife says I spend too much time talking to myself

Oh great

Now I have become you, and you me

What are we now if not the birds and the bees in the trees?

Something sinister is going on

Listen:

A fire speaks to a tree, the flame is patient—

it loves the tree to death

 

 

 

 

 

A scientist in America believes

God is a nerve cell.

 

All it takes is getting struck by lightning

or bumped hard on the head,

 

or a lack of oxygen—a near drowning,

a choking—for a man to say,

 

“God talked to me.”

And why not?

 

Martin Luther turned from the law

to becoming a monk

 

after a heavenly bolt knocked

him from his horse,

 

which reminds me, when Mohammed

saw the divine presence

 

an angel filled the sky

with light and a voice growing

 

louder and louder came from

every direction, and this

 

reminds me of a sentence

I read in a field guide to weather:

 

“If thunder is the atmosphere’s noisiest production,

lightning is its most dazzling.”

 

Having never had the God experience

or anything like it

 

I was at a loss when sobbing and rambling

my sister called

 

not a week after the sudden death

of our mother

 

and said,

“She was in my room.”

 

I didn’t ask if she meant

she’d seen her

 

in a dream or as a ghost.

And I did not bring up

 

PTSD

or anxiety-induced hallucinations.

 

I did not have to.

My silence alone provoked her into

 

saying, “I wasn’t dreaming.”

And if she had doubts

 

about God or the afterlife or seeing

our mother again, that night

 

she believed.

As for me, I was simply jealous.

 

I loved my mother and let her death

ruin my life, yet she

 

never showed up, no matter

how much I drank

 

or smoked or banged my head

against the walls.

 

I was living in

New York City, a young man

 

walking the streets most every day

and night, during which

 

I met dozens of men with whom

God had spoken.

 

If I had money in my pockets

I gave it to them,

 

and I walked away

when they tried talking to me.