Ordinary

The close quartered
Poor and marginal families
With 3 foot high cyclone fences
Marking off their 1/8 and 3 16th acre lots
Covered crowded with plastic swing set slides
Toddler trikes
Small short-legged mongrels with soprano barks
Marching / parading hackled-up fur and nervous black eyes

Women white mostly
Hands on hips
Sideways gazing at the house-kitty rolling in the grass

Pale skin
Shortest hair
Post-partum flesh seeping out of too tight
Sweatpants
Oversized upper arms
Holding squat-eyed infant
Like a running back

Trash out near the garage
Some cinder blocks and rusted metal poles
claiming center stage
of the largest expanse of withered lawn
inside gray faded fence

cocophpany of street noise
horns,
babies
an AM radio
from inside the flat stoop-less house
big screen TV center front
belching cartoons and carnival music

Rows of these peripheral inhabitants
Side by side
Offset only occasionally
By a perfect small manicured home
Wearing new paint
Modest seasonal flowers
Simple white curtains
With front door glass-cleaned storm door
Politely closed

Tuesday 1530
By the way, regards the John Wayne’s birthday issue: John Wayne, birth name Marion Robert Morrison AKA, Marion Michael Morrison; Duke, was born May 26, 1907. which happens to be 34 years and 2 days before:

Bob Dylan, Jewish name Zushe ben Avraham, Birth name Robert Allen Zimmerman AKA, Elston Gunnn, Blind Boy Grunt, Lucky Wilbury/Boo Wilbury, Elmer Johnson, Sergei Petrov, Jack Frost, Jack Fate, Robert Milkwood Thomas, was born May 24, 1941.

So today I met Dr. Max. Dr. Max at the VA ER finally ran through all the possible medical tests available to narrow done my complaints to a single cause: CAT scan (I asked for a copy of the picture but the attendant gave me a rude look; her cohort made the inevitable wise crack: "Don't worry pal, there's nothing up there to see . . . . .ha . . ha . .ha. . ha . .")

EEG, EKG, complete opthomological Series A: including those DROPS IN THE EYES THAT MAKES IT SO YOU CAN”T SEE SHIT FOR HOURS; eye pressure, mirror refraction tests, etc., etc. I sort of knew that he’d be thorough when I first met him: he was wearing both suspenders AND a belt. I felt reassured by his fashion contingency strategy. And so my impressions were confirmed as he methodically and rigorously eliminated all serious medical conditions, one by one:
1. Hallucinogen Persisting Perception Disorder or HPPD (a psychological disorder characterized by a continual presence of visual disturbances that are reminiscent of those generated by the ingestion of hallucinogenic substances)
2. "Detached retina"
3. “posterior vitreous detachment”
4. torn retina

and finally and confidently – 6 hours later – pronounced his diagnosis: “classic migraine with aura”.
He attributed my snarliness – apparently he received comments from various other VA hospital providers that I seemed a bit “irritated” – I’m not sure irritated is the word I would use: when I was greeted by the assorted, cheery medical techs, nurses, Docs, etc. and they would ask me: “How are you today Mr. Goodman?”, I would reply with: “And just how do you think I’m doing? I’m at the F….. EMERGENCY ROOM!!!” , my sensitivity to light - until the Eye Doc gave me those stupid, 3D plastic things from out of the 50's glasses i had been unaware that I was squiting , and sensitivity to sound – I refused to sit in the Patient Waiting Area with the stupid television blasting out the killings, rapes, mayhem, Tyson’s’ 24-hours-in-jail-for-possession-of-cocaine-and-driving-under-the-influence, and messages of hope for the countless poor in America if they would only join the Century Medicaid Supplements B insurance plan for $16.99 a month . . . !!!!
Perhaps I was a bit irritated or snarley . . .
But when he relieved all my concerns by telling me that I have migraines – and from the excruciating medical history he extracted from me – and have had them FOR YEARS !!!!
I must confess to becoming a bit loud and outraged: “What ?!?!?!?!!?” I cried.
“Are you telling me that my decades of headaches are migraines?????” “AHHHRGH!!~!~” or words to that effect.

I knew the VA Police officer that walked me out of the Emergency Room: we had been at the homeless program at the same time years ago. He had moved on to become a security staff for the VA. Promote from within. That seems to be the VA motto. So now he can manhandle and rough-up the various disgruntled vets as part of his job and get paid for it as opposed to slapping ‘em just cause they needed it. He didn’t have to manhandle me or rough me up: we knew each other. He had quietly entered the exam room and ever-so-gently put his hand on my arm and said: “Be cool.” I was so taken back by this utterance that my mouth fell open and I docilely joined my old hospital buddy for the short walk out to the parking lot. Synchronicity had once again sought me out and found me. It was two nights ago that I had watched one of my favorite Elmore Leonard movies with John Travolta and Uma Thurman as Chili Palmer and Edie Athens. You’ll never guess what the title of the movie was: Be Cool

Suburb
Middle of the weekday morning
Delivery trucks
Tradesman
Minivan moms
Phone to the ear
Baby seated safely buckled
Young ones only partially visible behind privacy glass

All going someplace
But not yet up
To the mid-day full steam navigating to com


Gehtto
During daylite
Stifling flat smudgy light
The old man
On the stoop
The two big women talking out the window to
Two small girls with pink ribbons in the hair held high
Police car rumbling by
Sun-glassed occupants
Scanning back and forth
Surveying
Trash
Broken bikes at the curb
Some Chinese women headed toward the river
Spotless brownstone
Auntie briskly sweeping
Down the steps
Singing and greeting all passer bys
Plywood boarded up windows
Etched with city Tags
The old man’s silent eyes
Squinched
Glassy
Red
Teary
Scream the narrative
A daily eulogy

You
Mother
Known lover
Great surgeon of forgiveness
Intrepid explorer of the little hurts
Cuddler extraordinaire
Connoisseur of tenderness
Sous Chef of the Loving glance
Whose hands have held the poop of Kings
And hearts have pined for soldier sons
Professor of the Rearing Child Blog-post
And consult for the Temperature of Things

You
Crier of the Great Tears
Harbingers of Peace
Today
This day is yours.

We
Your mostly noodle-headed babies
Have contrived inside
Our grand-silly bubble of self-importance
To proffer you a single day per wheel
When it is your bright burning heat
That fuels each day we live
Yes
You
Mother
Known lover

if you're alive you gots to listen to

"We can't make it here anymore"

myspace.com/jamesmcmurtry