The Path Goes Both Ways

by pbbr

A bird is singing on my windowsill this morning, sweet notes falling like ivory piano keys in a crosstown jazz bar. It’s autumn and he’s running late on his perennial southbound path. But he doesn’t sound hurried. Prancing back and forth on the windowsill, an avian entertainer chatting up the soft dewy dawn. I stand slowly, wincing at the surgery wounds in my belly, and reach for the shotgun.

The coffee pot is brewing on an automatic path. Savory beans roasting in their own juices, dripping, dripping. Chocolate warmth nestled in a cup,  auburn froth leveled at the top. Blended with raspberry crème. I take that first sip and my heart jumps in jagged arrhythmia.

The shower water is warm, stoking the embers of a tequila flame from the night before. The Mopar purrs in the driveway, guzzling the last few dimes from my pocket. Everything on its diametric path.

A blanket of fog lies on the highway. Spread out like a shroud, mother nature is proud. It reminds me of sticky teenage love and docks by the bay and Halloween adventures and Boy Scout campouts and the night my mother died. Damn it all to hell, she would say. God is love, she would say.

A belt to the thigh, a kiss to the cheek. It’s all the same to me.

All on its diametric path.

Good morning! the clerk says. A pockmarked face of scorn, eyeing to drag me down into the hole that he’s in. Would you like the meal or just the sandwich?

A rube is shining shoes in the lobby. Suave and pastoral, a mauve shirt that smells floral. A quaint memory of a time almost forgotten. He wears colorful kneehigh socks and suspenders and a toothy smile that decorates his face like a Christmas ornament. He nods and salutes, a crisp ritual. I heard he beat seven men to death in Vietnam.

There is a grating sound outside my office window. Jackhammer pounding, concrete snapping. Screech of metal on metal. The news is lamenting some bloodsoaked tragedy. A cascading exhaust wafts through the crack in the window and burns my nose. I sit back in my flea-bitten chair and smile.

These I can relate to.

All on its diametric path. It goes both ways, you know.

Author: Sudden Denouement

A Literary Collective

21 thoughts on “The Path Goes Both Ways”

  1. I enjoyed it in a Leonard Cohen, National Film Board, stream of consciousness kind of way.

    I’ll see you soon, in a deli, in Montreal, in 1964.

    That is the second time I have been to 1964 this week. Thanks for the ride.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. i’m here brewing a cup of joe, holding court like cohen in a deli, with only myself to judge or defend… glad you enjoyed the stream, mitch. it was a nice ride back to ’64, let’s take it again.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. A blanket of fog lies on the highway. Spread out like a shroud, mother nature is proud. It reminds me of sticky teenage love and docks by the bay and Halloween adventures and Boy Scout campouts and the night my mother died. Damn it all to hell, she would say. God is love, she would say.

    I can’t even be eloquent here, this is wordgasms at their finest. I am in love with this piece, as I am everything you write, but this speaks to me.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. thanks so much for your comment, your words made my day… that was the hardest line i’ve written in awhile. difficult because of the memories, but i’m glad it resonated with you. it’s an honor being reblogged on your page.

      Liked by 1 person

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