Memory Download: Poem

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copywright©Jerry D. McDonnell, 2004
Published in Northwoods Journal, 2006
by

Jerry Dale McDonnell




The first thing I remember is hugging rolled-down hose,
My head padded against thigh-high varicose veins while Grandma
Baked muffins
And love
In front of the apple tree caressing the window.
Outside, enormous bonnets and shy looks shed ultra-violent fall out,
Haystack babies,        
Catfish cravings,
Joe Lewis heavyweight chocolate,
                                                Humid ice cream,
                                                            Watermelon theft;
The muddy Mississippi ground past Mark Twain's steamboat like an omnipotent glacier with an attitude. 

We had a telephone but it didn't suck leach-like at our belt and
Stalk us into the sunrise ringing at the climax of warmth.
Ours sat stationary, politely, in its place, in the corner.
Cars were plain, simple, good enough for the time:
“We could all sing in stereo, make signals with our arms and drugstores had soda fountains: ice-cream sodas, malted-milkshakes, nuts on sundaes . . . whispered condoms.”

Stubble bearded men wore soft-knitted hats with bills,
Reaped cigarettes out of mechanical machines with two dimes and
Got a pack back with three pennies wrapped in cellophane in the side.
My railroad Dad (step-grandpa really) always smoked Wings.
(I snuck some down to the cave by the Mississippi River
Where Chief Blackhawk left bloodless arrowheads). We smoked
Wings instead of peace pipes in front of newborn birds,
Put arrowhead history in our pockets, caught fireflies, murdered ants,
Lusted for lucky strike girls and hid embarrassed erections like acne.

Movies were ten cents, preceded by newsreels showing war,
No commercials.
Men sat in mud, sucked on cigarettes, aimed rifles, caught bullets, Blew apart,
Sunk at sea. 
Medals came by mail.
Tanks, dust clouds, stacks of bodies, bombs fell.
Uncles marched proud,
Came home in stained uniforms,
Empty sleeves
And pant-legs
                                                            Pinned up.
But that was all over before my testicles descended
. . . then we had a parade.

The last thing I remember was a gold Packard in the neighbor's driveway, Red Skelton Radio, a General's picture, front page, posting his golf score:
A President's gesture to an end of the war nation.
Catfish showed up in plastic.
Women blushed, wore aprons, hairnets, veils, hid knees and found Tobacco glowing between their painted red lips before anyone believed their vote.

The rest is a warp-speed blurry rerun,
A river flowing into a moon crater.
Upgraded congresses on-line wrestling in semen send
God a RSVP but don't wait for the valued answer they expect.

Now I spend my days sweeping up the planet,
Wondering how anyone got to be in charge
As great expectations gallop past the age of cleavage
And bellybuttons like Yoda run amuck. 
_______________________

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