Life
by Genevieve Petty
Wind whistles through mimosa leaves,
That block TV reception,
Moonlight shines on a shabby white trailer,
Where the world begins.
A can's clank,
As it falls from the deck next door,
Reminds me to stay up with the all-night news
And be sure Mammy gets home.
They cry for food,
As I go inside -- they cry to come too,
But I cannot let them.
I sit down upon the papisan,
Not knowing how blessed I am,
And time marches on.
A cockroach scurries across the stereo top,
While its brothers wait nearby
I write fan mail
As my mother cooks potatoes
And complains about salty gravy
And "Howliday Inn" plays for the fortieth time
On the record player
I have broken off my friendship
With Jennifer and Donna,
But life is good,
And time marches on.
I sit in the secret room,
That is inside my closet,
I feel safe, secure and cloistered,
Before reality sets in.
Depression and persecution,
Cloud my enjoyment of life,
I wait and wonder,
But do nothing.
For laziness stops my hand,
From pulling the rifle's trigger.
And so I wait and fear,
And time marches on.
A weight of twenty pounds or more,
Drops upon my unsuspecting legs.
His yellow-gold eyes
Regard me in cynical detachment,
Accusing my legs of getting in his way.
I reach down and scratch his ears,
And he purrs with contentment.
I have recaptured a portion
Of my lost happiness,
But the futility of life still hangs over me,
And time marches on.
I look warily around,
As evening approaches,
I strive to avoid the gang,
That I barely escaped last week.
I live in fear again,
But fear for my body,
Not for my soul.
What time we have spent here,
Is all too long.
I pray to leave,
And time marches on.
Lips curled back in disgust,
I fasten up Pap's hunting coat,
To leave the sty we call an apartment,
To go outside and swing,
Though it is December and nearly midnight.
I cannot sleep at any rate,
And I will not stay longer inside.
My thoughts turn toward leaving,
My heart toward farther north,
Eyes closing, I wish myself away,
And time marches on.
For all to short a time,
A crabby old lady is my friend.
Life is more secure,
Though I now walk two roads:
The new and secure,
The old and familiar.
I am torn between two people,
Both of whom wish to impress upon me
Their views of life,
And how it, and I, should be.
But I am both, and neither, of these worlds.
My soul is torn asunder,
And time marches on.
I gaze out upon the interstate
From the window of an institution.
Buoyed by new found self-like,
And friends made and lost,
My spirits soar.
Pieces of lost memory return,
To relate to shrink tomorrow,
For now I am happy again,
And time marches on.
Kathy and I munch fruit roll-ups
Under a tree across the tracks.
No longer able to stand,
The cold and loveless atmosphere,
We have struck out,
In search of brighter horizons.
Not realizing, nor caring,
If perhaps we had,
The danger, or the long walk.
And time marches on.
And now I have a home again,
And a margin of happiness.
I am well-fed, clothed and sheltered
Living with relatives,
Who, though good-hearted and well-meaning,
Are demon-bashing, evangelistic, close-minded boors,
And I am forced to practice deceit
In order to preserve my soul.
But life works that way sometimes,
And time will march on.