by John Beach
(how best to remove the brick, in or out),
kept silent about this undertaking,
hid his progress using Play-Doh as grout.
A radio muted each chip and thwack.
How best to remove the brick, in or out?
If out, he’d have to hook it from the back.
Pushing inward, there would be no escape.
A radio muted each chip and thwack
(prodding blades, crushing blows, and finger scrapes).
Joe scratched and chiseled Portland brick mortar.
Pushing inward, there would be no escape.
He worked around one brick’s perimeter.
Watching the Boy Play
Grandma Mother does not like the basement,
the steep steps (how her stomach flows and ebbs),
lights strangling from beams, the cold cement,
and those sticky hairnets of spider webs.
It’s all mildew, cat box, and quandary.
The steep steps, how her stomach flows and ebbs,
are the worst. She’s thrown up on fresh laundry.
What can Marie do? Just rewash the clothes.
It’s all mildew, cat box, and quandary
now that Joe’s scrap feeding the pig. Her nose
knows that the two of them have become close.
What can Marie do? Just rewash the clothes,
wipe her lips, laugh that’s life’s not grandiose.
She stands on a wooden pallet, watches,
knows that the two of them have become close,
and that her life is kept alive by his.
Grandma Mother does not like the basement.
She stands on a wooden pallet, watches
lights strangling from beams, the cold cement.
Pig Iron
Joe is realizing he’s just a boy,
considers how much cement blocks must weigh,
and those results aren’t bringing him much joy.
Tired from feeding, shoveling, hauling hay,
he hugs 300 pounds of pork good night,
considers how much cement blocks must weigh.
Joe’s bigger these days but still rather slight,
large headed, assembled low to the ground.
He hugs 300 pounds of pork good night,
squeezes tight, feels porcine muscle abound.
He soaks it in, hopes their strength conjugates.
Large headed, assembled low to the ground,
Joe Googles about a boy lifting weights,
body building out of himself a man.
He soaks it in, hopes their strength conjugates,
starts to pump iron whenever he can.
Joe is realizing he’s just a boy
body building out of himself a man,
and those results aren’t bringing him much joy.
Pedestrian Priest, Bicycling Boy
“I’ve heard It takes corn to curl a pig’s tail.”
Joe pedal brakes, plops down feet, shows the priest
he’s serving peelings in a five-quart pail:
“Fat Man has corn, Father. This is a feast.”
“You do good works, son. Giving is the key.”
Joe pedal brakes, plops down feet, shows the priest
he’s troubled, turns, asks, “Father, should we
care more for the living or for the dead?”
“You do good works, son. Giving is the key.
Respect the dead. The living can be fed,
given comfort, anchored when set adrift.
Care more for the living or for the dead?
Who will benefit the most from your gift?”
If they’re in heaven, they already are
given comfort.” Anchored when set adrift,
Joe taps the pail looped on his handlebar,
“I’ve heard It takes corn to curl a pig’s tail.
If they’re in heaven, they already are.
He’s serving peelings in a five-quart pail.”
Ōþala
When Granddad sold his earth to the city,
he knew his days were done. A new crop came
sprawling, giving birth to urbanity.
His daughters and son had placed down no claim
(an interest shown in his legacy).
He knew his days were done. A new crop came
evolving on and dropped far from the tree.
Joe’s out back reading Granddad’s monument
(an interest shown in his legacy).
It is a very natural event.
The farm’s been supplanted by city ways.
Joe’s out back reading Granddad’s monument.
Grandma Mother’s planted by him and stays.
She takes his hand and feels his legacy.
“The farm’s been supplanted by city ways,
but not this spot. It was reserved for me
when Granddad sold his earth to the city.”
She takes his hand and feels his legacy
sprawling, giving birth to urbanity.
Repointing
Joe looks up rummy: it’s what he’s feeling:
deviation from what is expected.
His thoughts turn from breaking walls to sealing
wounds he’s scratched into. And he’s elected
to purchase ten pounds of Quikrete mortar.
Deviation from what is expected
is now life Skyping. He will support her,
serve to fill the gaps in the foundations,
to purchase ten pounds of Quikrete mortar
and a pointing trowel. Joe’s flirtations
with archaeology, now masonry,
serve to fill the gaps. In the foundations,
Joe’s found purpose, fault, unsolved mystery.
The past is history, what you rebuild
with archaeology now. Masonry
builds for tomorrow, the future fulfilled,
perhaps a little drunk on life’s sugars.
The past is history. What you rebuild
feeds inheritance, fulfills your hungers.
Joe looks up rummy: it’s what he’s feeling.
Perhaps a little drunk on life’s sugars,
his thoughts turn from breaking walls to sealing.
###
About the Author
John J. Beach is a recently-retired Assistant Professor of Information Technology, and he taught courses primarily in Linux, UNIX, and Macintosh systems. Along with Computer Science and Mathematics bachelor degrees, he also completed an MFA in English some great period ago in a time called The Twentieth Century. And although—while teaching for over 20 years—he wrote many technical workbooks and exercises for his students, he was not actively writing creative fiction, nonfiction, or poetry… until just now.
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