“Only the strong survive,”
cackled the good ol’ boys
I grew up among
in South Carolina
damn them all
they weren’t wrong.
What I had trouble with
was said strength was
to be directed only
towards survival
One displayed one’s
Superiority and fitness for
mating by superior endurance
to the Big Miserable Thing
with no thought towards
liberation
if only in one’s mind
God help you
if they caught you
trying an escape like
reading, or God forbid, writin’
when you better be workin’, boy
There ain’t no other way
and the sooner you figure that out
the better off you’re gonna be.
I spent my formative years
being told I was weak and
without common sense (now you got
Book smarts, so that’s something)
but—stop me if you’ve heard this—
with trumpets and fanfare
announcing King Irony riding in
with the cavalry to my vindication...
(wait for it)
...here I am
a happily married old writer
there they are
(the ones not
long since dead)
bitter, disappointed old
beasts of burden
nyah-nyah
how do ya like them
apples you braying
old jackasses?
etc.
It’s an old story, and that
I feel no particular vindication
only sad for the waste of lives
prosecuting an old trope
is itself an old trope
Besides, it took me long enough
to come around. I could have made
far better choices, myself.
Every writer learns
to his horror or otherwise
that there are a finite
number of stories
to be told only so many ways.
You do the best you can.
It’s all a matter of style.
From the forthcoming collection Nymphomagic Electroshock and Other Middle-Aged Complaints.
Copyright © 2018 by Lawrence Roy Aiken.
cackled the good ol’ boys
I grew up among
in South Carolina
damn them all
they weren’t wrong.
What I had trouble with
was said strength was
to be directed only
towards survival
One displayed one’s
Superiority and fitness for
mating by superior endurance
to the Big Miserable Thing
with no thought towards
liberation
if only in one’s mind
God help you
if they caught you
trying an escape like
reading, or God forbid, writin’
when you better be workin’, boy
There ain’t no other way
and the sooner you figure that out
the better off you’re gonna be.
I spent my formative years
being told I was weak and
without common sense (now you got
Book smarts, so that’s something)
but—stop me if you’ve heard this—
with trumpets and fanfare
announcing King Irony riding in
with the cavalry to my vindication...
(wait for it)
...here I am
a happily married old writer
there they are
(the ones not
long since dead)
bitter, disappointed old
beasts of burden
nyah-nyah
how do ya like them
apples you braying
old jackasses?
etc.
It’s an old story, and that
I feel no particular vindication
only sad for the waste of lives
prosecuting an old trope
is itself an old trope
Besides, it took me long enough
to come around. I could have made
far better choices, myself.
Every writer learns
to his horror or otherwise
that there are a finite
number of stories
to be told only so many ways.
You do the best you can.
It’s all a matter of style.
 |
| From the Midlands of South Carolina to the San Luis Valley of southern Colorado is more than a matter of miles for this retired old nomad of time and space. Kinda corny, I know, but there it is. |
From the forthcoming collection Nymphomagic Electroshock and Other Middle-Aged Complaints.
Copyright © 2018 by Lawrence Roy Aiken.
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