[lit-ideas] Re: [lit-ideas]SUNDAY POEM
- From: David Ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sun, 24 Oct 2004 10:43:51 -0700
You can't live in the past,
but it's only the present that can kill you.
When I went West this week,
only to Hillsboro, but West all the same,
I was not looking for adventure.
I was not even seeking crab, fish or mussels.
I was actually bearing the past in my mind,
driving along, heading for soccer,
thinking about Union shoes and Gettysburg;
not shoes made by organized workers,
but leather-sole'd oldies.
A student who does Civil War reenactments
asked if I ever come across nineteenth century shoes, at estate sales;
I was mentally checking that I knew what such shoes look like.
Being off my usual track,
I had my mind and eyes skinned for signs of old ladies' leather.
Alert, but absent from the present, I missed a turning.
From Cornelius Pass Road I wanted a right on Cornell where,
visual evidence suggests,
the heroine of high tech and condos--Silica Gal--
passed in the night,
tinkling seeds of sprawl and up-to-date blight.
I killed the radio and took the next right,
which turned out to be a hypotenuse.
It satisfactorily revealed itself to be heading shortly toward my aim,
but first there was a big bump--today's muse.
When the red Cadillac appeared on my left,
blasting through a supermarket parking lot across the street,
I had time for a brief mental beat,
"A coupe, with that Northstar heft..."
The car flashed across the road,
airborne at one point,
and dived, like a fox,
into a slot in a hotel parking lot.
I looked in my mirror, came to a halt, breathed.
Then, here was the cop.
With his lights going and siren wee-waahing,
he too burned rubber among the parking and shopping,
but he then turned right,
and hurtled off,
going the wrong way,
missing his prey.
Further down the road, all cars pulled over.
The posse--cop after cop--scooted by,
chasing toward the very immediate past that I'd witnessed.
I glanced around and found,
tucked in my blind spot,
a red Cadillac,
a coupe,
with, of course, the Northstar motor.
The paper next day said that Konrad Marshall Radys,
arrested once for stealing a car,
had been set free, pending court gadding.
Four hours later, a Caddy caught his fancy,
so away he went, in it.
A roving deputy pulled Radys over
in the WinCo parking lot.
With gun drawn, he ordered his man to the ground.
Radys not liking the sound
of umpteen years in the pound,
hopped back in the Caddy,
and took off.
Deeming his life in danger,
the sheriff fired shots.
Three hit the Caddy.
The man or woman then got back in the car,
and gave chase.
He or she sped off down the hypotenuse,
fooled by a t.v. ruse.
Tracker dogs and a glob of cops later found Radys.
And the car that pulled behind me?
It was a big red herring...
also with a Northstar engine.
Like the folk at Gettysburg,
I was thus diverted from my shoes and sport
by incidental shooting,
but this was out West,
where to this day,
law and outlaws
still blast away,
nearby supermarkets and the soccer playing green.
David Ritchie
Portland, Oregon
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