like pea soup

May 16, 2012

sitting in my bedroom
door closed
on an old easy chair whose cushions are
nearly flattened
music playing
Oscar Peterson
engulfing the space
piano, bass, drums
the room is thick with it
it presses against the walls
not eager to escape–
content having expanded to its limit
filling its vessel

I’m part of the room
a piece of furniture
let the music do its thing
it fills all the crevices
into the carpet
into the cracks in the wooden drawers
into the wrinkles of my shirt

close my eyes

be

I have to pee
I stand up and turn the volume down (why?)
I open the door and become a person again
I piss, very aware of the sensation and of the quiet
aside from the trickle into the bowl
I zip up and
walk back to the bedroom,
steps on the hardwood echoing
I close the door

Sit
volume up
back to furniture
jazz thrashes, stretches
flutters,
stomps,
tumble
roar
acrobatics
let the wild rumpus start

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4 Responses to “like pea soup”

  1. this poem is great because it took me on a journey. i immediately connected with the room and especially jazz. oscar peterson is one of my favourites. gotta love the magic of the jazz trio. and then suddenly the poem takes a turn, a bit of comedy but something more, maybe undescribable, wishing to go back into the room…. and then getting there is such a wonderful emotional/tension resolution

  2. doncarroll said

    this has a great feel. i like how you throw the human condition in it. it’s kinda like you are listening to all this great music and then that distraction of having to go take a leak takes over. it’s the same thing in life. things go good, then bad, then back to good – eventually. i don’t know if that is your exact take. i do like working on trying to figure out the writer’s intention. i don’t think i’d like the actual pea soup, but this batch works out just fine.

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