Don’s the guy who hired me in. He’s a real asshole. He manages the place. The reason he hired me in is because I’m short like him. That’s the kind of guy he is; the kind that hires another guy because he’s short. He’s almost all the way bald, but that doesn’t bother anyone because you can’t imagine him with hair. You should see this guy walk around; when he moves he puts his arms back and sticks his stomach out in front of himself like he’s chasing his belly button around all day.  Don Maldune Springfield; that’s his full name, and he’ll let you know it too. “I’m Don Maldune Springfield,” he’ll say; as if you care to know what his middle name is.   He’s also the kind of guy who likes to ask you questions just so he can hear himself talk. On my first day he brought me into the kitchen and said to me, “You ever been in a kitchen bubba?” Before I could tell him, “Why yes, in fact, Don Maldune Springfield, I have been in several,” he was already running around the place going into full detail about all the various element s of the “throw down zone”. I’ve never seen somebody move so quickly and erratically. He’s one of these guys that talks too fast and gets too close when he does it.  When he needs something from you he’ll grab you by the elbow and then lean in like he wants to suck face to tell you something. “I don’t pay you a hundred thousand dollars a year to hit on my waitresses.” That’s something he likes to say; he thinks it’s hilarious, but a guy’s likely to be knocked out for saying things like that.   He’s never wrong either, he will let you know that too, so don’t think he’ll budge on something. I saw him get into it with a dish dog once. “Why isn’t that dish machine running?” he asks.

 “There aren’t any dishes Don.”

“Are you kidding me? Get some dishes in that goddam dish machine.”

“Don, there aren’t any…”

“If I don’t hear water hitting plates in thirty seconds I’m cracking skulls.”

                So the kid washed clean dishes for the next hour and a half. That’s how big of an asshole this guy is; expect to be washing clean dishes. It’s not important that the dishes are already clean; it’s important that water is always hitting plates.

 I guess there are a few things I like about him.  Watching him dance is a treat. The bastard is a sucker for disco. With some guys you love the terrible things about them. Don’s the kind of guy you love because he has terrible taste in music, and because he’s a paranoid asshole. You just want to watch him because he moves so fast through the kitchen and he’s always flopping around like a fish, but then when Daryl Hall and John Oats come on the radio suddenly he slows down and grooves like he was born grooving. He knows it too; he knows when he walks he’s an awkward fool, but when he dances he’s the real boss. 

The moms that come in love him. Some of these moms I wouldn’t mind giving the business to, but Don’s got the moms on lock down. I swear I don’t know how he does it. I hear women like assholes, but this guy is no handsome chap.   I think they probably just like a guy who moves in like he wants to suck face when he talks to you, regardless of how ugly he is. Their husbands probably don’t talk close enough to their faces.  Don’s the kind of guy you love ‘cause he’s always stealing somebody’s wife, which is terrible, but sometimes you love the terrible things about a guy, especially when he’s a real asshole and you have to love something. He doesn’t have any luck with the waitresses though. For some reason teenage broads don’t go for his lines and he’s always ripping into you because they want to give you the business instead of him. “What do you care?” I’ll say, “These girls are even too young for me…” 

“They’re legal bubba.” That’s all he says, and then he’ll stare off like he’s imagining something horrific.  It’s kind of terrible but you have to love him because you can tell women to him are like the plates; it doesn’t matter if their already clean, he just wants water hitting them all the time. 

Don’s a smoking fiend. It’ll be the middle of a rush and he’ll be throwing down with you on the line, and then it just hits him like a brick wall. One minute he’s motoring, slinging hash and eggs like nobody’s business, and the next minute he’s in a dead stop. “I gotta step off bubba.” Then when he comes back in he’ll start moving again like a fiend and insist that you step off and have a cigarette too. 

“Go smoke bubba!”

“I’m alright Boss; we have twenty tickets across the board.”

“Go smoke!”

                It doesn’t matter if you don’t really need one, or that the restaurant is full and you should be cooking like a crazy fool, it’s important that your cigarettes get smoked. You have to love him because he’s the kind of guy that forces you to smoke a cigarette.  

The Non-Light of Unimagined Visible Affirmation

Adam eventually found a new spot in the garden for himself. It was slightly less becoming than that of his typical fancy; a fancy that indulged upon inclined positions leaving him relaxed, and within a fingertip reach of fruits of most sort. In this new spot his leisure would be decreased, and if he wished to eat of fruit, as he often did, he would need to take leave of his recline and walk a small measure. On the tips of his toes as well; he would need to do much toe standing, as the trees on this end of the garden were greater in their grandeur, leaving the fruit further from the soil from which they had came. The wine too, was a little further off now, and God’s venders would not be happy at his less frequent trips to their fanciful booths. The best of their wines were typically on the shelves that Adam could not afford, but there was one instance, just seven days prior, when God had insisted he sample one bottle in particular; the finest bottle of all. The label read: “The Non-Light of Unimagined Visible Affirmation,” and was bottled some time before God had given breath to the world. Its taste however, was what one would typically describe as “earthy” and it was because of this deliciousness rooted in earth that Adam became inquisitive at its flavor, contemplating the impossibility of its taste in relation to time, as God poured him another glass to prepare him for the devastating news.

“You say this has been around for some time now?

…It’s really quite Earthy you know….

So…I’m beginning to think that things don’t quite add up around here. For example, where is the damned edge of this garden? I have been walking this garden for millennia now and there is no end to it! And yet, the garden must be only twelve or so acres in size. What is this all about? And why must the wine venders carry flaming swords about? Honestly, each time I try and buy a simple case of vino, one of those winged fools singes the very hair on my head. Which I remind you, you must be fully aware of, because I am quite sure, though I do not know how, that you know the exact number of hairs atop my head! 

…Another glass? I doubt I’ll be able to afford…”

*God Pouring*

This man; oh this man. He is always excusing himself. If I were to offer a drink to him, and he wasn’t to question my creation, that would be a miracle. Perhaps I didn’t engineer drunkenness as well as I had believed. “Gabriel! Gabriel!” A trumpet sounds, “Write this down: Next time, less inquisitiveness in the brewski.”  A simple wink and there would be innumerable cellars fermenting this rotten juice. He calls it Earthy! As if Earth was even a thought then! I fear I have given this man too much. He lies around, thinking all day, looking to the sky in wonder. If he’s not doing that he’s trying to run past the supposed edge of the garden! It gives me a hearty laugh, yes; but holy hell! I wonder; should I have confused him so? I cannot simply give him everything. He is always scratching his devices in plain view, always scratching his devices; looking at them in confusion!

“How is it you have achieved such a flavor?  

…A bit peaty, my God!  This is a BIG wine…

How old did you say this was? Jesus! Pour me another glass!”

Did he just say Jesus? I must be imagining things. If this fool could predict the future, I’d be out of business. Should I tell him? I should think not; that would be out of character. He might expect me to answer every preposterous plea forevermore if I speak to him now.   I will just let him see for himself. She cannot be too repulsive to him at the onset. I will make her beautiful. 

Oh yea I might mention theres a dog too I think.  Who cares? Maybe its about domesticated animals,
God, quit it with your interruptions.

Wagging wagging tail:

Ardent naves meddling about coffers

A tiny lass begging, men standing boldly on

Her wagging wagging tail.

A portrait of black night in the mid eve

Nothing to see but nothing you see

A shadow hiding in lightless

This is the sleepy drizzle falling out my gutter

This break of grand day

The silly cat purring on my kicking stoop

Lacing my punting kicks

Lacing ‘em tight

So as to break a few things in the swipe swipe.

Unkepmt fingernails
twisted about from his nobby tips

His eylids an about face
Showing their reddy insides

The ratty Vet
Standing feebily to greet me
On knotty teetering legs

Well who are you
supposed to be? 
 
Its me Gramps
I told old Frank

You! oh You!
ehe ha heh!

The dementia ticker
Hadn't rotted me out
Quite yet

He knew it was me
Taking him to see the
Coast Gaurd
Charting him out for a vacation

I knew it was me
Taking him to see the
Doctors and Nurses
Setting him up for a stay

His pants fell straight to his ankles
As he and I shuffled into the ward

Aho ha hee!

I bent down,
'Gripped them up about his waist

We had a great laugh
There was never a laugh
Better

I put my hand on his shoulder
After he had been prodded
and prepped
 
Saying the damned loneliest thing,

See you later Grandpa.

See you later Grandpa yourself!

He haunched down into his wheel chair
Looking at four birds caged in the corner

Eating at bars
Ripping at  feathers
Pecking at swings

I walked down and out of a hallway.

The day the earth turned
Elevators fell horizontally
Taking human beings
Side to side

Rather than staying in
Dwellers went out and about
On grass lawns out past
Cemented stoops

Peaks were just corners
Presidents were hanging on desks
Calling on crawling secretaries

My bed a padded wall
My girl a monkey bar
My car a rocket ship

The earth was a crater grave

Bakers cakes layed to earthy waste
Bus boys spilling diner plates

An excellent tragic mistake!
Human sake tearing over natures grand age

Pumping the world clean empty
Picking at Gods finger nail
Cracking the ceiling

The day the earth turned
I was watching.
Waiting.

Ah hell,
we all were.

Right?

O' can in my hand,

Craked clean
Misting hoppy haze

A day's ending daze

Tonight I find a road
Moving counties
In God's fresh Earth

Slightly there
As any driving beam
Should be

Watching the devil
Tempting corners
To become sides

Falling into
A Holly lap and
Grappling the alive

Pidgeons and doves
Harking about my feet
Chewing the crumbs

O' life,

Eating my brain
How does it taste?

Great leavening

Today thank God!
This Evening!

I am obliged, distatastefulness
For bitter ills and torment!

These one nights
Sweating heavily in vats of
Seedy fame and lucritivy!

I hover from
You despots harking
for reaping morality!

Tomorrow I will
Open cages for flapping of
White winged gaping joy

Light shine blinding
Ray of morrow's day!

Today thank God
and Beauty O! once more!

The end of your dear planet scape
Is no matter

Gaping joy!
Beauty O!

I am

End
Seeding
Nothing

He is

Start
Harvest
Things

Great leavening!

Jetlined
Propeller prop
Magic carpet
Lucid dream leaping

Floating on everything.

 
If I were to sow a
Seed with needle and
Thread

Into the dirt laying
Beside the rusting
Tank

And Spit

The result would be a
Cracked seed impailed by
Thread

Covered in dirt and
Spit.

The rusting tank has nothing
But its aesthetic.