Elevator

It was slow.
In a senior retirement apartment house
A slow elevator is to be expected.
Not so, the fascinating dialogue.

Eleanor, face half hidden behind a surgical mask,
Wheels into the empty lift on the 13th floor.
“No room” she shouts at those waiting on floor 12.
With a friendly nod, the would-be passengers
Ignore her and enter.
All hope for a non-stop ride to the ground floor.

As the door opens on 11 Mildred, waiting to enter, is treated to Eleanor’s screams.
“I’ll report you people!. I need my space, but do you care?.
“No Mildred I am not upset with you, god bless you and keep you.
It’s Sam here, with his horrible breath, and Rose in that perfectly dreadful
Worn-out violet blouse, who could not wait for the next elevator.”

No one comments on Morris, the man from the funeral parlor
Who seems to be counting future customers from the back of the elevator.
If Morris doesn’t acknowledge you chances are you have not drawn the short straw ---
today.

Smiling diffidently. Mildred pushes against the wall as the 5 riders descend a floor.
No one there.
Eleanor and Sam, with something to agree upon, condemn the thoughtlessness of some residents.

Moving at a glacial pace, elevator and riders are confronted by 4 angry
Tenants on the 9th floor. John B. looks at Sam demands “ what have you people been doing with this elevator? I’m going to be late for my cardiologist.”

Charity attempts to calm John B. as Sam, taking umbrage, barks “Who the hell told you that
this fucking elevator runs at your pleasure. Why don’t you walk down the 9 flights.”
“Why don’t the 2 of you just shut-up” commands Eleanor.

A tense , but quiet ride to the 8th floor. “No room, no room” shout at least 4 people into the face of Margaret, a small lady who, leaning heavily on her walker, backs away from the elevator door.

Conversation turns to the management of the building,
As the elevator stops between 7 and 8.
Sam remarks, “This piece of crap is tired.”
“Maybe the cable is fraying” suggests Mildred thoughtfully.
“I think they’re trying to kill us!” exclaims Eleanor

“Did you understand that spy movie last night?”
Charity inquires of no one in particular.
“I forgot my hat” moans John B.
“Jesus John, did you pass gas again!?” Sam shouts.

Morris silently decides that John B and Eleanor
Will be customers before the season changes.

Then suddenly the elevator, showing independence of thought
Restarts and refuses to stop until it regurgitates
All 9 passengers at 1.

Jumper

“Selfish, is what it is”,
Explained the driver standing next to me.
“You and I, my friend, could be here all day!
Son-of a-bitch, why not pick a high rise?”

Why bridges?
Terrible odds
You lose you die, ... or
Maybe that’s winning?

“Poor bastard, won't be home for dinner”,
My new found buddy snickered,
“Course I won't be home for dinner either.
Maybe they should just push ‘em?”

Why bridges?
Is it the water,
Does the serpent brain
Look to retrieve a time eons old?

“You know, Brooklyn Bridge
Got a nice wide walk,
But here, Christ! no walk,
You’d be lucky not to get whacked before “take-off”!

Why this bridge?
How long ago did he plan this walk?
Did he leave a note in the kitchen?
Or was there no one and no kitchen?

The bridge must offer comfort.
Jogging up the car lane
Drivers give way
Eventually grasping your intention.

Would you have us reach out,
Persuade you there are choices,
This need not be the end,
Only witness your life ending escape?

Whistle of a Train

Five a.m. Morning light is hours away.
My bed is warm and the train whistle
Brings a feeling of well-being.

The train, miles away, speaks to me.
Its singular note evokes
A child’s figure 8 journey
In the living room of a Brooklyn apartment.

I recall the small circles.
It must have quickly grown tiresome.
Yet now, a lifetime later, that sounding whistle
Awakens a sense of Sunday morning,
When my world could be held together
By a fantasy trip to a magical place.

The Running Child

Down ten steps to the landing
And a wall waiting two feet beyond.
Scary, the first time,
Quickly becoming his mark of excellence.

A failure in school,
Socially uncomfortable, with few friends.
He could run and jump.
No one could run faster or jump higher.

Skinny and short, with dreams
Of cowboys and girls.
Heroically capturing bad dudes,
Saving lives, accepting thanks.

Desperately unhappy,
Dismissing races won.
They required only natural ability,
No real effort or thought.

What happened to that child?
Is he still there, inside a man’s body?
Does he venture out, wanting to run
And jump down ten steps?