The Limited Life

The Limited Life

It was a Life Magazine

From June of 1964

Governor Scranton on the cover

The article about homosexuals

That opened my eyes

And closed my life

I am 12 years old

I know I am different

I could be arrested

Shame my family

This founded my thoughts

For years

Even in college I couldn't

Tell my student shrink

Who and what I was

On days the gay group

Met at a religious house

On campus

I'd walk outside back and forth

Until the fall of 1972

Following a summer

At a cabin with Mike

Just one week of love

And discovery

Stonewall never made the news

In my hometown

Even with my college experiences

Falling in love and rejecting it

Denial upon denial

Hurting others for years

Hurting those who loved me

Wanting acceptance

Wanting real love

Now comes the loneliness 

Of old age

Alone nearer the end

A heart

Still full of shame

No one to talk to

No one to love

Just words to others

Just words

My children could never

Understand this emptiness

Or at least

I hope not

But for some of them

I'm nothing

Just someone walking

In the desert

Waiting for that pile

Of bones and meat

And buzzards

Real buzzards

Barry G. Wick

Steatopygous

[While listening to American Theater Organ Society Radio]

Steatopygous

Shall we dance to this organ

From the days of over the top

Theater decor in major cities

And just who am I asking

To pretend he would not trip me

It's my own enlarged posterior

Sliding so easily in my shorts

Across the blanketed chair

From which I shall not rise

As gentle flutes sing their invite

He can't pretend that ten pounds

Now lost to these months

Is spectacular to everyone

Who'd watch this festooned nob

Sway in elegant elephantisms

I shall remove this extended hand

To remain seated while embarrassed

That such a thought would cross

My sleepy and swampy thoughts

Barry G. Wick

Out of the Way

Out of the way

Oh you were thinking

Of some little restaurant

With checkered red tablecloths

Surly but fun waiters

Or some highway dive

With truckers

And gravy drown

Hot beef sandwiches and mash

I was thinking of my life

That began at four

When my mother Jean

Started me on piano lessons

I hadn't heard enough music

To form an ear 

So my ego grew

And while my output was 

My fingers and vibrating strings

I was there and music was not

Here later

After long years of not playing

I'm listening to everything

Made by greats that filled

The radio and television

I never really heard

I'm out of the way

I'm not the center

Mom thought I should be

Music fills the early morning

Cab Calloway

Peggy Lee

Woody Herman

Willy Bobo

Minnie the moocher

Eats Fried Neck Bones

And some home fries

Loading Sixteen Tons

And

That's all there is

Barry G. Wick

Time

Time

Every second is a little day

The morning comes

Rising reveals the light

To guess the time

Is a game to play

It was lost by 

Forty-five minutes

Living began in dark mode

The sink is now 

An open mouth

About to spit

On an aging face

The mirror turns

The hours to years

Eyes wrinkle

Arms flap

These muscles

We're once able

To fill and work

Without a breeze

The same shirt

The same shorts

Each decision

Makes the day grow

Eyebrows shade

As face skin droops

In half circles

Its another day

As this second

Drags itself to another

Only slower

This time

This measure

This breath

Barry G. Wick

Morning Shock

Morning Shock

Out of bed

To the plastic sink

I hit the light switch

Thinking of all my failures

Refreshed to me by

The opening image

On my phone

Tall in white underwear

I think of Montana

So many passed though

Every one a winner

And I rejected them all

Out of fear that my family

Would be hurt

I only hurt myself

Keeping myself from 

Adventures filled with love

Now as light hits my eyes

Old irises close as eyelids

Late upon this sour scene

Shut me off from wrongs

The towers climbed

Falling to hard ground

The morning filled with memory

Barry G. Wick

Awake at the End

Awake at the End

I remember my birth

In hazy images

In a struggle for light

Laid dreamy upon my mother

You will carry the memory

Of my last day

That seemed so long

As it came to an end

Every step was noted

Every ripple of music

That hid upon the shadows

I am there in breath

A glissando of dreams

Enfolded me always

That is where I spent days

Instead of being awake

Barry G. Wick

Touch

Touch

When did this happen

The moments are remembered

Some in cars

Some in walled buildings

Somewhere noisy 

Some on far streets

Somewhere furtive and secret

Longing for a loving kiss

Longing for a hug

That squeezes 

Almost breathlessly

Longing for a touch

That belongs to two

Longing for conversation

Where life decorates itself

Perhaps it's age or separation

A kind of life some call

A recluse

Or hermit 

Not chosen

It just happened because

Of bad knees and

A painful shoulder

A wheel chair

Or disfigurement

And lack of enough money

There are rare knocks

On the door

There is leftover coffee

In the pot

When it's seen after breakfast

Eyes raised to the door

Silence here

Silence except from outside

Where others live 

Friendlier lives

There were talks on phones

That lasted hours

Now it's just business

The boring minutes

Designed to keep a breath while

Sitting on the edge

Of an unmade bed 

Closed curtains

The buzz of a fly caught

In the window

While a soul dies inside

Across a dark room

Across a mystical barrier

Barry G. Wick

War

War

A young woman hits me

With her car

Or did I throw myself

Upon it

Later I'm invited to a party

She sits at my table

Her glass of wine

Sits in front of her

I say I'd join her

With my own glass

But I can't drink alcohol

It's been 13 years

Since my last drink I say

It's strange how uncomfortable 

That makes me

This is not a meeting

Where I confess my sins

Or even wish to sin with her

As I scan the room for friendlies

In the flames of battle

Barry G. Wick

The Return

The Return

Sometimes it's just a picture

An image of family

But this morning

It was the name of a city

That shook memories and images

Uncomfortable moments

From years ago

Not unlike my whole life

Unpleasant uncomfortable

Wrong actions stupid decisions

This is the evil of old age

When a trigger presents itself

On a gun filled with echoes

That sends bullets through

A past dislodging the unpleasant

Reasons that cannot be understood

Why doesn't end the answers

That leads to more questions

And more

And more

Barry G. Wick

Interstate Highway 80

Interstate Highway 80

Through the fourth floor windows

Waiting for the doctor’s nurse

To fetch me into the sanctum

I sit in a wheelchair in an empty

Bright room I look to the north

To see the east and west traffic

Of American commerce fulfilling

Orders of parts and purchases

The trucks and cars give me hope

That one day I might join

Travelers somewhere different

Somewhere new like my old days

To and from a university

To and from visits to friends

And family beyond the horizons 

Of which I have limited vision

Fishing and hunting museums 

And music something to feel

The dull has eclipsed my world

I dream of being beyond myself

The trucks and cars have expectant 

Drivers thinking and dreaming

While I gave blood and wait and wait

For my dreams to peal like bells

Barry G. Wick