Friday, March 24, 2006

Joisey Dreamin'

a son of a czaravitch
and heir to the vast empire
I sitting in the dark and cold coal shed
on a nasty and bitter February Jersey morning.
Other worldly me
while from above
the hustle and humbug
preparations for school
preparations for work
preparations for to heat the red brick run-down.
And i escaping into some murky fantasy
whose history gave barely a clue
just enough
to hang a flimsy dream of self importance on.

If I was a potential czar
what then of my other eight siblings?
Were they contenders to the throne?
or mere pretenders
like the rebelious peasant Pugachev
two hundred years prior?
Pugachevs—pretenders to the throne
I took some pleasure seated in the coal bin
hallucinating their inferior position
as I sat above them
on my annointed throne
they'd mince about trying to impress
to win my favor
in competition with each other
like we competed daily in cold times
for the coveted warmest spot in the house
snuggled between the hot water heater
and the wood burning stove
fisticuffs were known to be thrown
for that niche of warmth

I sat and dreamed my dreams of nobility
under the house in the woodshed
where shiney black lumps of coal lay inert
holding within their house warming magic
It was another cold morning
and I was rudely awakened
by the angry voice of impatience
gravelled and authoritative:
“Tommy, what in hell you doin down there?
You best get that bucket a coal up here
before I kick your lazy ass.

It was good to feel needed
part of the team
so to speak.