"Don't put things off…it may be later than you think."
“Woolly-Toothed Madness” photograph courtesy K. Hayes 2019
Jalopy: a favorite word of mine.
My childhood ranged a series of jalopies.
Somehow, my Father scraped enough together to get a used Ford Capri.
This being the family car from 1980-1983.
Bucket seats, knobs, leather.
A tapedeck that played a “Kenny Rogers Greatest Hits” album, ad infinitum.
An air freshener that smelled of magic, and freshness.
Having a jalopy, unburdened my maternal Uncle Kevin;
Because we did not ask him to borrow his Plymouth Valiant to go to the “Clownie House”.
The “Clownie House” is where we would go for respite and sustenance after picking up my Maternal Grandmother from her Saturday job at Jordan Marsh in Framingham.
Peanut shells cast about on the floor, an allergists nightmare.
A big screen displayed playing old time movies.
Beef hot dogs with french fries.
A real family restaurant.
Those in New England will remember it as “The Ground Round”, not the “Clownie House”.
But, that’s what we called it.
Saturdays were the best days.
Trips outside of our second floor apartment.
When weather permitted, windows down.
Hair blowing in the magnificent breeze,
Music playing.
Trusting that no matter where we went, our Father knew how to get there,
And, would always get us home.
Sometimes with bundles of food.
Errands.
Family.
Squeezed into a jalopy and ready for whatever came to us.
I really love that word.
Jalopy.
Not forty winks, but thirty-nine.
Laboring under the dream demons.
Sleep wake walking.
Terror beware.
Bump, goes sounds in the night.
Industrious mice or silverfish,
A spider defining territory.
A groggy stumble to the bathroom.
Pee symphony dancing on the porcelain waves.
Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary!
Sleep paralysis.
There is someone in the room.
I can’t hear them.
But, I know they’re there.
Kevlar blankets for protection?
Not forty winks, but thirty-nine.
If you’re in the neighborhood on Friday, September, 20; consider coming by the next installment of “Dint Forget Your Art!”
There is a strong rumor that I will be given a microphone.
Absorbing projected fear,
Living without cessation of confusion.
Where do I begin to end?
Hapless, upon the stardust strewn between distant,
Distant;
Stars.
Astronomical units.
The greatest expanse.
Someone can hear you scream in space.
If you scream loud enough.
“The Cave” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019
