In the Tavern of Lost Souls

  Than stop the wheels of universe

  “Then I must go on,”

  Jesus said, watching a lizard take a gnat

  “I give hope in changes;

  Who would forgive me

  If I sold out?”

  ****

  Chapter 7: Is There a God?

  It was one of those change-of-weather days that give people migraines. Even at midnight, the wind howled outside the tavern. Rain beat at something tin on the roof, then stopped again.

  Lollie sat at the table, a glass of milk and digesting another couple of acetaminophen-and-codeine tablets. Her stomach hurt, but not as much as her head. The left side of her brain seemed like it was being gnawed by a rat.

  Cal blew in, clutching his guitar case. Before he sat down, Lollie squinted at him, took her glasses off, and said, "I hate that guitar."

  "The guitar's part of my soul." He seemed a bit hurt.

  "You're the one who wanted a level playing field. Should we all get guitars and learn to play?"

  "I got it!" Cal nodded. For a moment Lollie thought he was going to say something about PMS. That wouldn't have been a wise move. But he said, instead, "You get migraines."

  Lollie was on the point of getting up. "Don't go!" Cal set the guitar down. "You're right, you know. This'll be the last time I sing. I'll stick to poems."

  Lollie just nodded.

  "Is there a God?" Alf said, striding up. Lollie started hating the way men seemed to have the right to stride around rooms. And make up rules. But she refrained from further comment.

  Actually, she didn't even feel like reading her poem. She stayed silent while the routine of dealing the cards came and went.

  Alf read his poem, affirming the desolate lack of gods in the modern world, and Blossom read hers. Lollie wondered what it was about, but her brain wasn't working well enough to figure it out.

  Cal made a comment about Lollie's not wanting any more guitar playing, and laughed about it.

  "I hate to become a legend for being a music-killer, but I think she's right," Alf said. "It was making me feel slightly inferior."

  "Didn't bother me," Blossom said, taking her jacket off . She had on a plain orange T-shirt that turned a couple of heads.

  Cal's song turned a few more heads. Then Lollie handed her poem to Blossom. "Would you read this for me," she asked.

  Blossom smiled a very large smile. "Damn right."

  *

  Is There a God? [Alf]

  I came across Odysseus out in a field

  By the edge of an open grave

  Drunk and loud

  Stomping on grasshoppers

  And crying

  (He always was a sensitive man)

  Well, I asked, and he roared,

  “Gods! You have no gods

  In your bloody cold country!”

  I offered to show him channel 27

  On weekdays on the one-eyed Cyclops

  Or find Gzowski on a Sunday morning,

  Where sounds come from the air

  But he would not be comforted

  “Fuck you,” he ranted at the sky

  Positively begging for thunderbolts

  Or even a small rain.

  It was a brave performance from an old man;

  He got my sympathy, and the lovely sweet song

  Of a meadowlark bravely singing over the grave

  Of all his dreams, fears, and hiccups.

  *

  Is There a God? [Blossom]

  when I stand in front of the subway

  I wonder

  but sometimes I stand in front of the special shop

  and there are God and Satan

  struggling in chocolate

  *

  Is There a God? [Calhoun]

  (song)

  Bless the good guys and the cowards

  Heroes, hookers, and them all

  In the cancer ward we answer

  Lord God's cattle call

  chorus

  And the humpin' and the dyin'

  They're just part of the song

  They're just God's way of sayin'

  Git along, little dogies, get along

  I saw my old friend Arnie

  Just recovering from the knife

  In the cancer ward at Western

  And he asked me, What is life?

  So I told him the good lies

  Things about God and plans and pain

  Then I went out the big glass doors

  To a cold November rain

  I drove home behind a truck

  Full of cattle, and I thought

  Arnie, you tried for freedom

  Hey, universe, thanks a lot

  So bless the good guys and the cowards

  Heroes, hookers, and them all

  The whisper of a needle is just

  Lord God's cattle call

  *

  Is There a God? [Lollie]

  Don’t be silly

  What Entity would permit

  General Motors?

  If there were a God

  No one would need a

  Teddy bear

  Or a Buick.

  ****

  Chapter 8: Does God Care?

  "John asked me the same thing," Blossom told Lollie. "He was very religious, and was always trying to get me to go to church. His church, of course."

  "John?"

  "My second - no my third - boyfriend. I was just fourteen, and he was fifteen. His father was a minister. He believed in God; he just didn't know if God really cared." She looked at Lollie. "I think I always looked for someone to care. Maybe if people could care, then God could. You think?"

  "What happened to John?"

  "Long ago, and far away. A million years and a thousand poems." Blossom ran her fingers through her short hair. "So, are you feeling a bit more positive this time?" Blossom crossed her legs and looked directly at Lollie.

  Lollie nodded and wiped the table in front of her, removing some semi-dry material she hoped was pizza. "I think so. At least I'm going to read my own poem this time."

  Blossom straightened her sweater and swirled the straw in her Diet Pepsi. "Did you conclude that God cares?"

  "I thought you didn't want to talk about the topic." The scowling bartender delivered a bottle of beer.

  Blossom smiled. "I don't mind talking about the topic. I just don't want anybody trying to say things about my writing." She leaned forward. "Paul says it's a lack of self-confidence, but I think he's full of it. I just don't want to tell me I should have done it differently. Or trying to figure out my inner personality from my writing."

  Lollie barely stopped to wonder who Paul was. "That's fine with me. Since you ask, I think God cares. Maybe a lot. But she can't do anything about this planet."

  "That's better than the alternative, isn't it?" Blossom was watching the door. "Here they come together. Probably stopped for a quickie in the back alley."

  "Can't imagine either of them being gay," Lollie said, turning her head.

  "Listen honey, men will surprise you every time." She waved for the bartender, who looked like he'd rather ignore her, but didn't dare.

  "Sorry I'm late," Alf said. "The monkeys ate some soap. What a mess."

  Cal just did his best Heathcliff impression of mysterious gloom, and straddled a chair. Carefully, he placed four copies of his poem onto the table.

  "Lollie and I were trying to decide if God doesn't care, or cares but can't do anything about it."

  "About the state of the planet, you mean." Alf tugged at his ear.

  "What else?"

  "I run with the 'can't do anything about it' theory," Alf said.

  Lollie tentatively raised a hand. "Same here."

  "I'm in with the godless heathens," Cal said. He looked at blossom, who raised a thumb in agreement.

  Alf turned to Lollie. "You're the quiet one here, I guess. It lends an air of mystery to you."

  Lollie smiled. "One has only to ke
ep silent about a dull life, and people will make a mystery out of it."

  "I don't know," Alf went on. "I think there's more to you than meets they eye."

  Lollie rolled her eyes. "You can look forward, I guess, to finding out the truth in my poems. Isn't that what poems are for?"

  "Poems are for reading." Cal dealt the four cards.

  "Who cares if we do?" Cal asked.

  "God?"

  "Maybe."

  "Maybe only us." Blossom watched the guy across the room. He was reading a book and eating fries.

  *

  Does God Care? [Blossom]

  we had a brass bed:

  they were popular, then

  and a wonderful quilt, bought

  from the Mennonite auction

  if God cared

  there would be warnings

  on brass beds

  *

  Does God Care? [Lollie]

  Every evening God opens a fold-down desk

  (Before She pulls her comforter over Her head

  And sleeps the sleep of the damned)

  And writes the whole events of the day

  In a radiant book.

  It helps to keep her warm.

  Lucifer, you see, stole Light

  And scattered Her power

  Across the gray planet.

  God cannot be caught, but

  If you’re quick, you can see Her

  In the strange reflection from a wine bottle

  If it is topped with a half-burned candle and if

  It is full of tears.

  *

  Does God Care? [Alf]

  The offshore wind caught his shrouding hood

  Flung it back, the burnished shoreline sun

  Narrowed sad eyes, blistered lips that moved

  To make a blessing above a drying pool

  And a pair of starfish running out of time.

  I’ll say this for him, patience was his strength.

  By early afternoon the pool was gone, the tears

  He cried could not revive the twisted arms.

  Following a melancholy trail across the dunes

  The evening called, the slaughterhouse in town

  Wild-eyed cattle prodded towards the knife

  Needed his tears. His blessing and his tears.

  *

  Does God Care? [Calhoun]

  Sometimes there is too much concrete.

  There is a lone weed, and

  Candy wrappers and other bits of paper

  Skuttle and skitter and wave in the vortexes of dry wind

  Where concrete forms sharp angles

  Hesitate, then wave again.

  I have known concrete, and some days

  Only the desert wind gives me

  The imitation of life.

  Some days, I am less than the weed

  Crowded in at a crack in concrete.

  ****

  Chapter 9: Should We Search for Meaning?

  It had been, Lollie decided, a long month. For sure, she had sought meaning herself, without enough success to fill a beer bottle cap.

  Strange," she thought. I keep looking for meaning in other people. But all they are is people, empty as myself. If I found any meaning, I would bottle it and sell it in tiny bottles at a million dollars a shot.

  Cal dropped into the seat opposite her, setting a bottle of beer onto the yellow Formica surface of the table. "We're the first ones here?"

  Lollie nodded, thinking that someone would look for meaning in Cal only when other options had been exhausted. People who know where there's meaning, she thought, don't need disguises.

  But she had the feeling that other women might think differently.

  "Did you answer the question?" Cal asked.

  ""Not sure." Lollie moved over as Alf came in, followed a minute later by Blossom.

  "I said we should search instead for comfort." Cal closed his eyes and turned his head as if to scan the room with sonar.

  "Happiness," said Lollie.

  "My poem," said Alf, leaning way back in the wooden chair, "says you'll never find meaning. It might be there, but it's out of reach."

  "I think," Blossom said, "we should go on an epic search for a place where the damn drinks still have some fizz in them. Yuk." She eyed her pop as if waiting for a bubble to rise to the surface. "I printed my poem on pink paper, you'll notice."

  *

  Should We Search For Meaning? [Blossom]

  he tried to learn to play the harmonica:

  men!

  have you ever heard a woman

  playing harmonica?

  to defy God is

  to play harmonica.

  we women never learn to properly

  play the mouth organ

  that's what the men say.

  if there were meaning

  men would learn

  women

  instead of

  harmonicas.

  *

  Should We Search For Meaning? [Calhoun]

  Send me not

  A rainbow, Lord

  Send me not

  A star

  Send me, Lord

  A warmer night

  Than I have known

  So far

  *

  Should We Search for Meaning? [Alf]

  I stumble to the camplight, towards the music that

  Fills the forest, a black dog gripped, long-fanged

  To my thigh. On my shoulder a crow wipes his beak and

  Guilt on my hairless head.

  Upon the stage the music wavers now; bluegrass turning

  Bad. The audience is gone and half the strings are broke,

  The players tired, not knowing when the show should end.

  In a tree, a figure blocks the starlight, eyes reflecting gold.

  They say he has the program, rulebook, and scales

  But no-one’s ever got him to come down.

  Had I a kazoo, I would play Amazing Grace

  But for the dog, I would climb the tree

  Had I the schedule, we could all go home.

  *

  Should We Search for Meaning? [Lollie]

  She stood on the cold beach

  First day of winter, dawn

  Curling waves tasting snowflakes.

  She had a warm red coat and

  A gingerbread cookie.

  One seagull turned.

  You can spend your life

  And not be halfway to meaning.

  Ten minutes is all you need for joy.

  ****

  Chapter: 10 Is The Kitchen Life?

  "This is our ninth question," Alf observed. "I'm amazed we lasted this long." He rubbed his extreme forehead. "It certainly says something about something."

  Lollie nodded. "Maybe we need to get a life."

  "God, if we were doing this every day! "Alf encircled his beer with one hairy arm. "I think we're not pushing our luck too badly." He smiled at Lollie. "I trust you weren't busy managing an all-night theatre or something."

  Yawning suddenly, Lollie shook her head. "Well past my bedtime. I usually fall asleep reading a book by ten."

  "What kind of books do you like?"

  "Murder mysteries, mostly. Light stuff with no redeeming value." Smiling, Lollie added, "No poetry, anyway. You."

  "Science fiction most of the time. A lot of non-fiction books about travel."

  "I was beginning to wonder if you spent your time reading the bible." Lollie tried to find a place to set the four copies of her poems. The table wasn't quite dry from the quick wipe the guy from the bar had given it. She settled for putting them on the empty chair beside her."

  "Not any more. Read the bible cover to cover a couple of times, then went out looking for God."

  "Find her?"

  Alf waved his arms around, taking in the entire room. "My lost soul ends up here every time the safari ends."

  "Could be worse. You could have to live on the fries." Lollie took a sip of beer. "How are th
e monkeys?"

  "I always figured they'd see me as a kind of God."

  Lollie raised her eyebrows.

  "They think I'm a big, stupid monkey." He looked carefully at Lollie.

  "It's twenty after twelve, and there's no sign of Blossom or Cal," Alf noted. "I told you they'd run off together."

  Lollie laughed. "I still don't think it's likely."

  At that point the bartender came by to see if they needed another beer.

  "Well, we were waiting for the other two to come," Alf said, scratching his waist.

  "They left a message for you," the bartender noted.

  Alf was puzzled. "When was that?"

  "The girl left hers with the guy on the previous shift, and the guy left his about ten."

  "And you just told us?"

  The bartender shrugged.

  "I'll have one more of the same,” Alf said, wearily.

  Lollie just shook her head. "It was a pretty stupid topic anyway," she said, when the bartender was gone.

  When the bartender returned with Alf's beer and two printed pages, Alf said, "I guess we read by ourselves."

  Lollie nodded. "I'll read Cal's; you read Blossom's."

  Each of the pages contained an apology. Blossom's pink paper said she was away attending a funeral. Cal's had no explanation.

  When they were done, there was a pause. "I've read better poems," Lollie noted. "But I liked yours quite a bit. You'll probably go to hell for it, but it was a good poem."

  "Hey, thanks. But yours was fine."

  Lollie got up. "Too womanish. I wrote it so Blossom would like it."

  "We're writing sexist poems, now?"

  "More or less." Lollie left change on the table. "See you at the dark of the next moon."

  *

  Is the Kitchen Life? [Lollie]

  Five of us in the kitchen

  At the table, playing Monopoly

  After the chili was done.

  We drank home brew

  And built hotels.

  Outside, the wind picked up, and the lights flickered.

  It’s a dead thing, moving air

  As are the snowflakes it holds.

  Somewhere about midnight

  We renamed the railways

  Earth, air, fire, and water

  And laughed the game closed.

  *

  Is the Kitchen Life? [Alf]

  Jesus, entering Martha’s house

  Would not to into the kitchen

  Where sunlight flowed willing onto

  Bread from the fiery pit

  Wine transformed from grapes

  Knives piercing limbs of lambs

  A table nailed together from old wood.