Remodeling

by Craig Kirchner

If I am to write anything, it will have to be about

the past. Yes, I’m going back. I must. The here and now

is crowded with clowns, I’ve always hated and feared

clowns, and they are never held accountable.

I could be speculative, write about the future,

but I’ve done enough dystopia: any not-too-distant

forecasts would be like humans in a zoo or circus,

being cheered on to destruction by every other living thing.

I’m seeing me in the Wayback Machine, recalling

days in the park, teen years, young love, firsts,

seconds, all those things that got me here, including

the traumas, pains and exhilaration of growing into life.

I’m going to lubricate this time travel with strong

vanilla flavored coffee, but start out not going too far:

last night’s dream was fun, remodeling a liquor store,

something I have some experience with.

I’m observing, the store is the size of a football field,

with a dirt floor covered with peanut shells or dried turds.

A skinny guy behind the counter, could be me except

for a ridiculous wig, like he’s holding British court.

The counter is all the way in the back endzone. I tell

the barrister this will never work, this should be a beer box,

you need to move the counter, the well of this court,

up near the door, the witness stand, and you need kids.

Think of me as a judge, you know about my age,

coming in for a case of Pabst, and there is no kid here

to help, am I going to struggle through ninety yards

of bourbon, wine and clown shit to get out of here.

Craig Kirchner thinks of poetry as hobo art, loves storytelling and the aesthetics of the paper and pen. He has had two poems nominated for the Pushcart, and has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels. After a writing hiatus he was recently published in Decadent Review,  Wild Violet, Last Leaves, Literary Heist, Ariel Chart, Cape Magazine, Flora Fiction, Young Ravens, Chiron Review, Yellow Mama, Valiant Scribe and several dozen other journals.