Rodak's Writings: a Poem for Easter

HOLY WEEK, 2020

Drones hum above,
peer into baby buggies,
searching for clues.
Far below, the bug rages,
millions cringe in dark corners,
masked and abandoned,
watch as men truck the bodies,
gouge the parks for mass graves:
it’s just like the Nazis,
but without the bad press.
Still, tomorrow is Easter--
eat some chocolate and listen:
the sun also rises;
He is Trending;
chill out.

Remembrances: Robert Ford Dakin

Today would have been my father's 100th birthday. He has been gone three years, and I still feel frequent urges to call him for comfort and advice. I will miss him always. I love you, Daddy.

Rodak's Writings: Ruminations

The following three paragraphs were jotted down, perhaps at different times, on an old spiral-bound notepad that was lying around on a card table that I have in my home office. The second of the three was later used in a poem which I will include at the end of this post. 

These jottings are presented here without revision:

____________________

The essential thing about me, he said, is that I never gave a flying fuck about nature. Living on a cold, dead rock suits me just fine.

___________________

I dress in rags because I don't have to. If I had to, I would go far out of my way not to.

____________________

Nobody seems to realize how old I am. I've always looked young. Since I've gotten old, this has resulted in my receiving comments that I have allowed myself to take as flattering. When I was a young man, however, I usually felt my youthful appearance allowed my elders and/or superiors, to take me less seriously. But now, here I am: closer to 80 than to 65 --well within an age group where many are dying, or already dead.

______________________

Last Gasp

The soul is tried,

the jury still out.

On the empty street

a windblown Times

pursues the man

as if to bite.

Later, at home,

the poisoned air

lounges on his plate,

dares him to dine.

I am not hungry, he lies.

I wear these rags precisely

because I don’t need to.

So throw the key away, he cries.

Just, please, let me breathe. 

      

Reflections: The First Day of the Rest of My Life

Today is the first day of my retirement from Ohio University, where I have been working for the last 23 years. I don't know if I should be celebrating--even though there is a pandemic raging--but I'm not.

I find the loss of the illusion that holding down a job put me in control of my life and destiny is disquieting. There is fear that the pandemic, which has shut down most businesses, thrown millions out of their jobs, and caused the stock market to tank, will permanently cripple the economy, so that my pension money disappears even before it ever started. 

And, since Laura graduated in December and went back to NYC, I am now completely alone all day, every day. I have no one but my cat, Mona. She is a blessing, but not much of a conversationalist. I am too radically introverted to go out into the world and interact with strangers, just for the sake of some social intercourse. 

So here I sit, silently worried.

Because of the pandemic, should I need help, my family would not be able to come to my aid. Never have I felt so alone. 

And it has only just begun.

Rodak's Writings: Flash Fiction

SAM AGAIN

Beckett just called. Godot's flight's been cancelled. Just kidding. Beckett's dead. Yeah, I googled it. 1989. What? You've got fingers. Do your own math.