Lost In Thought

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by Eric Nixon

When your hand

  Opened wide

  And I fell

  And kept falling

  Until I hit hard

  Alone

  For the first time

  Angry

  For you letting go

  Hurt

  It hurts so bad

  It took weeks

  And months

  To get over the pain

  To realize to know

  What I know now

  That I wasn’t being

  Dropped or let go

  I was being set free

  December 21, 2002

  Manchester, New Hampshire

  2003

  January

  Lonely Lunch

  Waited in line for the lonely lunch

  Turned down the volume as I

  Rolled down the window then I

  Gave my order to the voice in the sign

  Pulled up a few feet and waited in line

  Handed the cash and got a bag that was hot

  Hung a sharp right and pulled into a spot

  Parallel to the other lonely lunchers

  Turned up the volume then I

  Pulled my food from the bag

  Clever fries at the bottom

  Tried to escape the fate of the others

  Always happy to be seen

  Always eaten first

  Like free or extra fries

  You hadn’t counted on

  Unpacked and unwrapped

  Took a bit and took a sip

  Not really listening to the radio

  I looked up and out the window

  At the massive mound of rotting snow

  And on top was a crow

  Hello crow

  You want my fries

  Sorry, but no

  Go and get your own

  Besides, it’s too cold

  To open the window

  How fast the crown flies

  To a car down the row

  Who tossed out her extra fries

  No crow to look at

  Just the snow bank

  Not nice snow

  Very dirty

  Full of ice and

  Sharp as a knife

  Still, it beats looking at

  Other cars, people, signs,

  And all that

  Just want to look

  At something natural

  And pretty

  As I eat

  Something unnatural

  And icky

  Speaking of which

  I finish eating

  Pack the crap in the bag

  Put it in reverse

  And drive back to work

  January 19, 2003

  Manchester, New Hampshire

  Description of my lunch today in my car while parked in the McDonald’s parking lot on Route 28 in Salem, NH.

  March

  And Here Are Their Shoes

  The room that made me pause

  The room where it all hit home

  The smell

  Of the musty leather

  The sight

  Of the enormous gray pile

  Of shoes

  The culmination of hideous acts

  Carried out so long ago

  In times twice my age past

  In countries so far away

  In places I’ve heard of

  And don’t intend to visit

  The lesson learned

  Everything hit home

  In this room

  The hundreds of thousands

  Of the nameless faceless

  Back in the black and white

  A portion of the millions

  Who bought, wore, relied on, these

  A portion of the millions

  Who had names, faces, lives, and dreams

  Who arrived on cattle cars

  Who were separated again

  Who were stripped of everything

  Who were herded into the showers

  Who were gassed

  Who were tossed into the ovens

  Who died needlessly

  And here are their shoes

  Outliving your footwear

  Is something you never ever think about

  (shoes are disposable, not people)

  But it made me think more

  Than I ever though possible

  Something as simple as a shoe

  Made an impact stronger

  Than a pile of bones

  March 17, 2003

  Manchester, New Hampshire

  Two weeks ago I visited the National Holocaust Museum in Washington DC. I already knew a lot about history, so the museum was more of a history refresher…until I entered the room with the shoes. That made it all hit home.

  Forgetful Poet

  She said something funny today

  Too bad I can’t remember

  What it was that she said

  Clever witticisms coming naturally

  Savable lines flying all over the place

  Trying to remember what I can

  And me without a pen and paper handy

  Life sucks being a forgetful poet

  The perfect piece of prose coming easily

  And leaving even easier

  Gone in a flash never to return again

  Dyslexia, ADD, I’ve got it all

  Too bad I can’t retain anything

  Or else I would have written more

  And maybe had something published

  And then I might be someone today

  Instead of a hotel manager

  With a blank page starting at me

  And a dream of something more

  Tugging at my heart

  Pulling at my soul

  March 28, 2003

  Manchester, New Hampshire

  April

  Untouched On The Dresser

  I want to know

  What I’m doing

  Will make a difference

  What I say

  Will mean something

  What I write

  Will make people think

  What I do

  Will make an impact

  On someone, anyone

  I just need to do

  Something

  I just need to know

  Something

  I do will make a difference

  Because right now

  I’m not making

  An impact on

  A difference in

  Anyone.

  Why am I here?

  What am I doing with my life?

  Put in perspective

  Seen in reflection

  Life and all its unfairness

  In the mirror of self-awareness

  So many ideas with

  So much potential

  Going to waste inside me

  Rotting away under the pile

  Another day another mile

  Another day closer to the end

  Buried alive under the pile

  Of apathy of indifference

  Of everything dumped on me

  Over the course of my life

  A brand new day filled with

  Lofty goals and the best intentions

  Woke up with a list

  Of things to do

  Of errands to run

  Of worlds to conquer

  A life-full of best intentions

  On the dresser

  Day down and night up

  Time for bed with a list

  Of things to do

  Of errands to run

  Of worlds to conquer

  A life-full of best intentions

  Untouched on the dresser

  To be saved for another day

  Perhaps

  To be saved for a never day

  Is more like it

  So much I want to do

  So much I want to accomplish

  So easily sidetracked

  So easily wandering off course

  I desperately want to change

/>   To make a difference

  But barring an act of God

  (please?)

  It’s not going to happen

  Anytime soon

  It’s not going to happen

  Ever at all

  How can I make a difference

  A profound impact

  In the lives of others

  If I can’t inspire myself?

  April 5, 2003

  Manchester, New Hampshire

  Last week the director of sales at my hotel said something to the effect that she was wasting her life. She said that people are dying all over the world, and here she is spending her life doing something that isn’t appreciated, nor helps anyone. That got me thinking along the same lines. Every once in a while the same thing bothers me. I work in the service/hospitality industry where the only thing that counts is how I provide service from one moment to the next. I can never point to a bridge or a building and say, with pride, “I built that.” I can’t point to a cd and say, “I recorded that.” I can never point to a book and say, “I wrote that.” I feel the same way…like I’ve wasted my life. I’m staring down the barrel of the end of my youth as I’ll be 29 in three weeks. Then, it’s a quick ambulance ride to my 30s and beyond. I look at all the musicians, writers, and people who are doing something worthwhile with their life and they’re all younger than me. It’s like, I could have done something cool, I could have done something important back then, but I didn’t. Back then I felt like more grown up people, more experienced people did cool, impressive, and memorable things. It’s like I ended up hitting snooze a few times too many and discovered I missed my chance.

  Winning Streak

  Riding high on this winning streak

  Never ever want it to end

  Never going to let it end

  Life without winning’s way too bleak

  Going to win at all costs

  Not going to be the one who lost

  The taste of victory’s way too sweet

  Tearing down all the fences

  Damn the consequences

  I will never know the agony of defeat

  April 10, 2003

  Manchester, New Hampshire

  Abusage The Usage

  Snucked on by

  Wrong tense

  Wrong usage

  Sorry I’m not really caring

  Careening on the haphazard coin trip

  Down the proper English hall

  Knocking over everything anything

  That’s in my way

  Thanks to the budget cuts

  No one will notice

  No one will care

  Because they’re all too busy

  Because they’re all overworked

  So I’m free to wreak havoc

  And abusage the usage

  Tearing the gerund a new one

  Spinning free I’m me I’m I

  I can’t wait to

  Spit in the eye

  Of Strunk and White

  They can just

  Bite me, bit I, whatever

  I’m enjoying the improper

  I’m getting sloppier

  In my usage

  I’m getting happier

  In my abusage

  Coining until their cup

  Is overfilled is overflowing

  Than I say was’sup

  And away I go running

  April 30, 2003

  Manchester, New Hampshire

  This is a random one. Completely spontaneous and without any thought whatsoever (pretty obvious). While I’m normally excellent with my grammar (I always say “whom” instead of “who” when I’m at work and in everyday life – because it’s proper English), I had a moment of regression here in a playful kinda way. S’ok. It happens.

  May

  53 Pounds

  53 pounds currently separates

  Me from my dreams I’ve had

  Set in place for years

  I’ve finally garnered the courage

  To act upon

  To fulfill

  To just say, “screw it,” and jump

  Out of a plane at 13,000 feet

  Wanted to do it for years

  Now I have a reason

  Now I have the desire

  I figured the day after

  Our divorce

  Was the perfect day

  Emotionally and figuratively

  To take the plunge

  Into my new life

  Without a wife

  And now I can’t

  The pound here or there

  I’ve worked off and lost

  Isn’t enough

  Not by a long shot

  So here I am

  So here I stand

  Looking up into the sky

  Yearning to be free

  But so many forces

  Keep me down

  But mostly

  My own weight

  I cannot jump since

  53 pounds

  Keeps me grounded

  And prevents me

  From fulfilling my dreams

  May 11, 2003

  Manchester, New Hampshire

  I know it’s late. I know I should have gone to bed hours ago. I don’t care. I just found out that there’s a strict weight limit to skydiving. I mean it makes sense but it’s something I never planned on. I was looking forward to jumping more than anything this year…and now I can’t. I can’t because I’m 53 pounds over their limit. Grr.

  Sunshine Up There

  It’s raining here

  Where it’s wet, gray, and cold

  The dreariness drags me down

  But I know up above the clouds

  It’s sunny

  Sunnier than I could ever imagine

  And it’s like that every day

  Huge storm here

  No problems

  No worries

  Just go up

  And feel the brightness

  And see the perfect blue

  And look down at the clouds

  Far below your feet

  Forget that, look up instead

  And keep looking up

  And feel the warmth

  Of the sun’s tight embrace

  And let loose with that smile

  That’s flooding across your face

  Never want to go back down

  Back down to the ground

  Because there’s

  Sunshine up there

  So that’s where

  I need to be

  May 21, 2003

  On a flight to California

  When I landed in Chicago it was cloudy and rainy. When I took off later it was so neat to see the world go from dark and gray to bright baby blue in an instant. Then, I realized that it doesn’t matter if it’s raining because it’s always sunny up there. Kind of an analogy for life I guess.

  So, My Friend

  So, my friend

  We’ve been everywhere,

  We’ve done everything together,

  And it was supposed to be forever

  Forever until today

  Because today is the day

  The finality of us as a couple

  Was reversed

  For better or for worse

  All the times, all the love

  All the laughter, has been

  Reversed now you’re my ex

  And now we’re both single

  In the eyes of the law

  But you’re still so much more

  More like a confidant and a sister

  And a good friend all rolled into one

  When something goes really wrong,

  Or really right, at work or at home

  We still call or email each other

  Because we know the other

  Will always understand,

  Be there, and help out

  Thank you

  For still being there

  While our roles

  Might have changed


  In a radical new way

  It’s nice to see that

  Some things remain constant

  Like our friendship

  So, my friend

  Today we toast

  Not to the end of us

  But to the continuation

  The retransformation

  From what we once were

  To the friends that we are

  And will be in the future

  May 29, 2003

  Manchester, New Hampshire

  We officially got divorced today.

  June

  Two Sets Of Beads

  A car passed me today in the other lane

  It was some blonde chick’s mustang

  Flashy and polished - it was bright green

  It screamed that she was dying to be seen

  But thing that caught me was the beads

  Mardi-style hanging from her mirror

  Made me wonder how she got the proceeds

  And thinking how many men had seen her

  A minute later another car passed with gusto

  It was also a green car, this time it was a Geo

  Also with beads hanging from the mirror

  What are the chances of having two flashers

  Pass me on the same road within minutes

  Until I saw the garnets between the beads

  Then I knew they weren’t for letting guys see

  They were actually her set of Rosary Beads

  Two cars, two women, two sets of beads

  Made me think of where each one leads

  The former is naughty showing some skin

  The latter goes against what Jesus taught

  In the lesser of two evils the Mardi would win

  The Rosary beads are like a pagan afterthought

  June 6, 2003

  Manchester, New Hampshire

  I actually saw this today. I just got off of I-293 onto South Willow Street in Manchester. Both cars passed me within a minute of each other and what I saw got me thinking.

  Dumb-Ass, Stupid-Shit Fucker

  For the dumb-ass, stupid-shit fucker

  Who almost ran me off the road

  Speeding, laughing, weaving

  Through the cars on the highway

  Much too fast, much too close

  Narrowly avoiding death

  Repeatedly careening between

  All of the potential victims

  If I wasn’t so fast and so alert

  To jam my brakes through the floor

  You would have killed me

  The three in your little red Honda

  And the five in the minivan

  You were trying to squeeze between

  While doing 95 in a 65

  After getting past the terror

  I wished a horrible death

  For the dumb-ass, stupid-shit fucker

  But then happily realized

  I didn’t have to wish it on him

  Because he’d do it to himself

  Hopefully soon all on his own

  But then his family would grieve

  And say what a perfect boy he was

  And how nice and kind he was

  And how he was taken too young

 

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