by Eric Nixon
When your hand
Opened wide
And I fell
And kept falling
Until I hit hard
Alone
For the first time
Angry
For you letting go
Hurt
It hurts so bad
It took weeks
And months
To get over the pain
To realize to know
What I know now
That I wasn’t being
Dropped or let go
I was being set free
December 21, 2002
Manchester, New Hampshire
2003
January
Lonely Lunch
Waited in line for the lonely lunch
Turned down the volume as I
Rolled down the window then I
Gave my order to the voice in the sign
Pulled up a few feet and waited in line
Handed the cash and got a bag that was hot
Hung a sharp right and pulled into a spot
Parallel to the other lonely lunchers
Turned up the volume then I
Pulled my food from the bag
Clever fries at the bottom
Tried to escape the fate of the others
Always happy to be seen
Always eaten first
Like free or extra fries
You hadn’t counted on
Unpacked and unwrapped
Took a bit and took a sip
Not really listening to the radio
I looked up and out the window
At the massive mound of rotting snow
And on top was a crow
Hello crow
You want my fries
Sorry, but no
Go and get your own
Besides, it’s too cold
To open the window
How fast the crown flies
To a car down the row
Who tossed out her extra fries
No crow to look at
Just the snow bank
Not nice snow
Very dirty
Full of ice and
Sharp as a knife
Still, it beats looking at
Other cars, people, signs,
And all that
Just want to look
At something natural
And pretty
As I eat
Something unnatural
And icky
Speaking of which
I finish eating
Pack the crap in the bag
Put it in reverse
And drive back to work
January 19, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
Description of my lunch today in my car while parked in the McDonald’s parking lot on Route 28 in Salem, NH.
March
And Here Are Their Shoes
The room that made me pause
The room where it all hit home
The smell
Of the musty leather
The sight
Of the enormous gray pile
Of shoes
The culmination of hideous acts
Carried out so long ago
In times twice my age past
In countries so far away
In places I’ve heard of
And don’t intend to visit
The lesson learned
Everything hit home
In this room
The hundreds of thousands
Of the nameless faceless
Back in the black and white
A portion of the millions
Who bought, wore, relied on, these
A portion of the millions
Who had names, faces, lives, and dreams
Who arrived on cattle cars
Who were separated again
Who were stripped of everything
Who were herded into the showers
Who were gassed
Who were tossed into the ovens
Who died needlessly
And here are their shoes
Outliving your footwear
Is something you never ever think about
(shoes are disposable, not people)
But it made me think more
Than I ever though possible
Something as simple as a shoe
Made an impact stronger
Than a pile of bones
March 17, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
Two weeks ago I visited the National Holocaust Museum in Washington DC. I already knew a lot about history, so the museum was more of a history refresher…until I entered the room with the shoes. That made it all hit home.
Forgetful Poet
She said something funny today
Too bad I can’t remember
What it was that she said
Clever witticisms coming naturally
Savable lines flying all over the place
Trying to remember what I can
And me without a pen and paper handy
Life sucks being a forgetful poet
The perfect piece of prose coming easily
And leaving even easier
Gone in a flash never to return again
Dyslexia, ADD, I’ve got it all
Too bad I can’t retain anything
Or else I would have written more
And maybe had something published
And then I might be someone today
Instead of a hotel manager
With a blank page starting at me
And a dream of something more
Tugging at my heart
Pulling at my soul
March 28, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
April
Untouched On The Dresser
I want to know
What I’m doing
Will make a difference
What I say
Will mean something
What I write
Will make people think
What I do
Will make an impact
On someone, anyone
I just need to do
Something
I just need to know
Something
I do will make a difference
Because right now
I’m not making
An impact on
A difference in
Anyone.
Why am I here?
What am I doing with my life?
Put in perspective
Seen in reflection
Life and all its unfairness
In the mirror of self-awareness
So many ideas with
So much potential
Going to waste inside me
Rotting away under the pile
Another day another mile
Another day closer to the end
Buried alive under the pile
Of apathy of indifference
Of everything dumped on me
Over the course of my life
A brand new day filled with
Lofty goals and the best intentions
Woke up with a list
Of things to do
Of errands to run
Of worlds to conquer
A life-full of best intentions
On the dresser
Day down and night up
Time for bed with a list
Of things to do
Of errands to run
Of worlds to conquer
A life-full of best intentions
Untouched on the dresser
To be saved for another day
Perhaps
To be saved for a never day
Is more like it
So much I want to do
So much I want to accomplish
So easily sidetracked
So easily wandering off course
I desperately want to change
/> To make a difference
But barring an act of God
(please?)
It’s not going to happen
Anytime soon
It’s not going to happen
Ever at all
How can I make a difference
A profound impact
In the lives of others
If I can’t inspire myself?
April 5, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
Last week the director of sales at my hotel said something to the effect that she was wasting her life. She said that people are dying all over the world, and here she is spending her life doing something that isn’t appreciated, nor helps anyone. That got me thinking along the same lines. Every once in a while the same thing bothers me. I work in the service/hospitality industry where the only thing that counts is how I provide service from one moment to the next. I can never point to a bridge or a building and say, with pride, “I built that.” I can’t point to a cd and say, “I recorded that.” I can never point to a book and say, “I wrote that.” I feel the same way…like I’ve wasted my life. I’m staring down the barrel of the end of my youth as I’ll be 29 in three weeks. Then, it’s a quick ambulance ride to my 30s and beyond. I look at all the musicians, writers, and people who are doing something worthwhile with their life and they’re all younger than me. It’s like, I could have done something cool, I could have done something important back then, but I didn’t. Back then I felt like more grown up people, more experienced people did cool, impressive, and memorable things. It’s like I ended up hitting snooze a few times too many and discovered I missed my chance.
Winning Streak
Riding high on this winning streak
Never ever want it to end
Never going to let it end
Life without winning’s way too bleak
Going to win at all costs
Not going to be the one who lost
The taste of victory’s way too sweet
Tearing down all the fences
Damn the consequences
I will never know the agony of defeat
April 10, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
Abusage The Usage
Snucked on by
Wrong tense
Wrong usage
Sorry I’m not really caring
Careening on the haphazard coin trip
Down the proper English hall
Knocking over everything anything
That’s in my way
Thanks to the budget cuts
No one will notice
No one will care
Because they’re all too busy
Because they’re all overworked
So I’m free to wreak havoc
And abusage the usage
Tearing the gerund a new one
Spinning free I’m me I’m I
I can’t wait to
Spit in the eye
Of Strunk and White
They can just
Bite me, bit I, whatever
I’m enjoying the improper
I’m getting sloppier
In my usage
I’m getting happier
In my abusage
Coining until their cup
Is overfilled is overflowing
Than I say was’sup
And away I go running
April 30, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
This is a random one. Completely spontaneous and without any thought whatsoever (pretty obvious). While I’m normally excellent with my grammar (I always say “whom” instead of “who” when I’m at work and in everyday life – because it’s proper English), I had a moment of regression here in a playful kinda way. S’ok. It happens.
May
53 Pounds
53 pounds currently separates
Me from my dreams I’ve had
Set in place for years
I’ve finally garnered the courage
To act upon
To fulfill
To just say, “screw it,” and jump
Out of a plane at 13,000 feet
Wanted to do it for years
Now I have a reason
Now I have the desire
I figured the day after
Our divorce
Was the perfect day
Emotionally and figuratively
To take the plunge
Into my new life
Without a wife
And now I can’t
The pound here or there
I’ve worked off and lost
Isn’t enough
Not by a long shot
So here I am
So here I stand
Looking up into the sky
Yearning to be free
But so many forces
Keep me down
But mostly
My own weight
I cannot jump since
53 pounds
Keeps me grounded
And prevents me
From fulfilling my dreams
May 11, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
I know it’s late. I know I should have gone to bed hours ago. I don’t care. I just found out that there’s a strict weight limit to skydiving. I mean it makes sense but it’s something I never planned on. I was looking forward to jumping more than anything this year…and now I can’t. I can’t because I’m 53 pounds over their limit. Grr.
Sunshine Up There
It’s raining here
Where it’s wet, gray, and cold
The dreariness drags me down
But I know up above the clouds
It’s sunny
Sunnier than I could ever imagine
And it’s like that every day
Huge storm here
No problems
No worries
Just go up
And feel the brightness
And see the perfect blue
And look down at the clouds
Far below your feet
Forget that, look up instead
And keep looking up
And feel the warmth
Of the sun’s tight embrace
And let loose with that smile
That’s flooding across your face
Never want to go back down
Back down to the ground
Because there’s
Sunshine up there
So that’s where
I need to be
May 21, 2003
On a flight to California
When I landed in Chicago it was cloudy and rainy. When I took off later it was so neat to see the world go from dark and gray to bright baby blue in an instant. Then, I realized that it doesn’t matter if it’s raining because it’s always sunny up there. Kind of an analogy for life I guess.
So, My Friend
So, my friend
We’ve been everywhere,
We’ve done everything together,
And it was supposed to be forever
Forever until today
Because today is the day
The finality of us as a couple
Was reversed
For better or for worse
All the times, all the love
All the laughter, has been
Reversed now you’re my ex
And now we’re both single
In the eyes of the law
But you’re still so much more
More like a confidant and a sister
And a good friend all rolled into one
When something goes really wrong,
Or really right, at work or at home
We still call or email each other
Because we know the other
Will always understand,
Be there, and help out
Thank you
For still being there
While our roles
Might have changed
In a radical new way
It’s nice to see that
Some things remain constant
Like our friendship
So, my friend
Today we toast
Not to the end of us
But to the continuation
The retransformation
From what we once were
To the friends that we are
And will be in the future
May 29, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
We officially got divorced today.
June
Two Sets Of Beads
A car passed me today in the other lane
It was some blonde chick’s mustang
Flashy and polished - it was bright green
It screamed that she was dying to be seen
But thing that caught me was the beads
Mardi-style hanging from her mirror
Made me wonder how she got the proceeds
And thinking how many men had seen her
A minute later another car passed with gusto
It was also a green car, this time it was a Geo
Also with beads hanging from the mirror
What are the chances of having two flashers
Pass me on the same road within minutes
Until I saw the garnets between the beads
Then I knew they weren’t for letting guys see
They were actually her set of Rosary Beads
Two cars, two women, two sets of beads
Made me think of where each one leads
The former is naughty showing some skin
The latter goes against what Jesus taught
In the lesser of two evils the Mardi would win
The Rosary beads are like a pagan afterthought
June 6, 2003
Manchester, New Hampshire
I actually saw this today. I just got off of I-293 onto South Willow Street in Manchester. Both cars passed me within a minute of each other and what I saw got me thinking.
Dumb-Ass, Stupid-Shit Fucker
For the dumb-ass, stupid-shit fucker
Who almost ran me off the road
Speeding, laughing, weaving
Through the cars on the highway
Much too fast, much too close
Narrowly avoiding death
Repeatedly careening between
All of the potential victims
If I wasn’t so fast and so alert
To jam my brakes through the floor
You would have killed me
The three in your little red Honda
And the five in the minivan
You were trying to squeeze between
While doing 95 in a 65
After getting past the terror
I wished a horrible death
For the dumb-ass, stupid-shit fucker
But then happily realized
I didn’t have to wish it on him
Because he’d do it to himself
Hopefully soon all on his own
But then his family would grieve
And say what a perfect boy he was
And how nice and kind he was
And how he was taken too young