Metal Rat (Poem 24 of 30: 2016)

This one could probably use another revision but I’m done fucking looking at it. It feels really lame to sob and write. And I hate that. So, this one’s about a friend of mine who lost her battle with cancer a little over 6 years ago. Her birthday just past, and she would have been 56. She’s been on my mind.

Metal Rat
Tonight I wanted to write something that would make me laugh
But I’ve given up having intentions and directions
When I write the damned work tends to take itself over
And my fingers just trounce about on keys
I’m often surprised at what comes pouring out
So many of my pieces lately have been a bit on the down
While I’m admittedly not the happiest of humans
I’m not the sad sack my body of work might suggest
I mean, some of them were, to me, quite funny
But my senses are a bit morbid

I’ve been fascinated and confounded by death
Since my Beta Fish, Rita Repulsa, when I was wee
(Yes, I now know that the males are flashy,
So what, I had a tranny fish, fuck you!)
I remember sitting on the steps in the garage with that dead fucking fish
(I can’t say fish without fucking it.. I mean. I can’t say fuck without fisting a fish I mean.. Fuck!)
I stared at it for the longest time
I touched it
Trying to get some reaction
I was like 8, don’t judge
Hoping and praying.. Well hoping anyway
(I was raised some weird Catholic-guilt, Buddhist, godless mix
So I didn’t really start praying until much later
And I still only pray to my pagan gods
When it suits me to)
It didn’t look any different but it was
So very dead and different
I still miss that fucking fish
He was glorious in a way I have not seen since

I didn’t feel that confusion about death again for a long time
In between I saw several corpses (cremains don’t count)
My great aunt
A dead guy at a tennis court
Another dead guy at a bank
The one time I went into Trenton and saw yet another guy
Bled out from a bullet wound
Dripping down a car
As a cop tested the dead weight of his arm for reflexes
Hell, I’ve been to a fucking autopsy
(Art school, and that’s all you need to know)
It wasn’t until 2009 that I felt that again
It made me feel so gutless and small
So profoundly sorrowful and I felt like a child
For the first time since that fucking fisting fish

My friend and adopted mother had cancer
I spent her last three months living with her
Helping her with shit around the house between Chemo
It was one of those heart-ripping experiences that I wouldn’t trade
I was there with her and her daughter when she passed
We watched, stoney and weeping, as she took her last breath
Then she was just.. gone.

Her body didn’t change at all
But it was so completely empty
And alien
And I felt like a kid
Lost, confused, desolate
Left wondering where the electricity went
So sad that at first I couldn’t cry

Man, do I ever miss her
She mothered the crap out of me
I wouldn’t be here
If she hadn’t brought me into the world the second time round
I miss rocking to Peter Gabriel in her kitchen
The way her house always smelled so sweetly of apples
Walks in the parks and graveyards
Halloween and some of the best home-cooked food of all time
Baking cookies while talking about everything, anything
I’d kill for one more conversation
I’d kill just to hear her voice again

Shit, there I go again
Crying and writing prose poems about depressing subjects
She’d yell at me if she were here
No wasting time on sadness
Especially on her behalf
Man, she was vivacious as fuck
And I’m certain she lived more in her 49 years
Than most old-agers ever will

The thing is, though, while it might seem sad
And It might make me cry a little
It’s only because I miss talking to her
I’m grateful every day for the time we did have
Sure it wasn’t enough, but was it ever going to be?
Hell no. There’s not enough time in the world
To spend with the ones you love

And this poem, it’s a lot like her
A bit morbid but it does make me laugh
I’ve had to learn it’s alright to cry
As long as I can laugh through the tears
And keep kicking ass (names not required)

I miss you, you metal fucking rat


In her honor, here’s a link to Taco’s Puttin’ on the Ritz
Because why the fuck not.

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About Moly

Average, boring, self-involved human. Twitter: @CultOfCocktails Facebook: facebook.com/MolyTov
This entry was posted in Poetry, Written, Written Work and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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