2 - OLD FENCE POST

How well I have learned that there is

no fence to sit on between heaven 

and hell. There is a deep, wide gulf, 

a chasm, and in that chasm is no 

place for any man.

                             -          Johnny Cash

OLD FENCE POST

We set that first post one summer day when I was 9 or 10 I’d say. Cut down trees, and strung barbed wire, following straight lines of earth scorched by fire that we used to mark our place. This is ours, stay out we’d say, with a sign at the gate.

At 36, half were replaced -putting new ones in with haste. So much to do; the kids, the farm, the wife and work and well - what harm could come to an empty pasture? 

I saw no imminent disaster on the horizon other than a marriage ending and it wasn’t worth defending something that had been going wrong for so long. 

I’m 62 and it’s ’08 and every time I look out at that fence gate the woods grown up between the field and house I stop and think, I’ve been a fool for neglecting things and break out my tools. I go out to the field and look and see the work that lasted years and think of all it took to put that fence up the first time.

I stood on one side, then the other. Straddled rusted old barbed wire, and started to cut and dig, taking a break to take a swig of ice bold lemonade from my work jug. 

I filled in holes, and replaced wire, and took out some posts with an ire that bespoke old age. I worked for days, until I came to that first old post, the one that meant the most to me because it reminded me of the time with my father and I didn’t’ bother to dig it up or a cement it in, but took some time to let time soak through from way back when I was 9 or 10 and the life I’d lived in between, I thought of all that I had seen, and felt; gained and lost. 

That Old Fence Post would still be there when I was gone and I had no fear that all would be well enough at least, in these short years ahead of me.

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1 - LOVE LETTER

A thousand times we die in one life.
We crumble, tear and break apart until
the layers of illusion are burned away 
and all that is left, is the truth of who 
and what we really are.
                                     - Teal Scott
 

LOVE LETTER 

(I)

The Postman's near, but not quite here yet and I have a moment.

So, I put pen to paper - all because:

I need to let you know My Love, I still adore you; even more, than yesterday or the day before we said goodbye...

Folded paper from the pad, where my precious feelings all but had to be put down and got out of my head, my heart, my lungs.

Plain white envelope in the box, taken to be sorted - and if our plans be not thwarted; this letter will arrive on the other side of tomorrow.

(II)

Morning again: same food, same place, same full but lonely empty space. Cup of coffee, 2 fried eggs - rain outside: the world made dark and slow by it.

Death's Head Postman; hooded head.

WAIT! 

PAUSE.

Okay, he's gone.

All alone. Check the mail.

That Death's Head Postman never fails.

Plain white envelope, a letter sorted - our plans, I see, have not been thwarted!

The past made present from before - all because:

I need to let you know My Love, I still adore you; even more, than yesterday or the day before we said goodbye... but I cannot hold the heft of this thing that we call Death upon my shoulders. So, I must let you go; wiser, older. Free to be a little bolder. 

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4 - ROUTE 666

The road to hell is
paved with good
intentions.
           - Samuel Johnson

ROUTE 666

Carol pulled into the gas station. A cloud of dust rose up on the dirty desert road behind her Cadillac.

She rolled up to a solitary island of pumps. The sign stood in the sky - on a tall, wide: red, white and blue pole; it read LYCON OIL CO. 

The Cadillac, red on the outside – white on the inside coasted to a stop, smooth and slow, in front of PUMP #1.

The radio played this fun little tune by The Beatles, but she couldn’t remember which song it was and kept getting confused, because she knew she knew it. Plus, there was something else odd about this whole situation.

Looking up at the sign, there was this realization that the price read $0.00 per gallon. Things had been getting cheaper but this seemed a ridiculous situation.

Opening the door and stepping out into the heat, Carol noticed that the pump said Credit Card or Pre-Pay. She was thirsty and dirty and needed a break from that air-conditioned crate of a car - so damn neat; compared to the hot landscape. It felt wrong.

She went inside the store, stopped at the cooler, grabbed a cold lemonade, and walked towards the counter - ready to pay. The man there had a mustache, cravat and brown hair like dirty hay. Very, 70’s, she thought with dismay.

She stood at the counter, said she’d have $20 in gas.

“No charge,” the man said, from under his big wide mustache.

“I have this lemonade too,” Carol told him, shaking her head.

“You can have the drink,” an odd Texas-Twang when he said each new word. “Didn’t you hear the news? Money has been outlawed; determined absurd.”

“I don’t understand,” Carol said. “What do you mean?”

“Everything’s free. Take the food, all the gas that you need.”

“Are you kidding or what -  are you messing with me?”

“No. I am not. Seriously, I’m telling you, it was on the T.V.”

“So, can I have a Sub-Sandwich?”

“Sure… that’s fine, there’s no fee.”

Carol picked up a sandwich and headed on out. She filled up her tank, wondered what that’s about. She got in the car not knowing what to say. She felt good, but not right, in a peculiar way.

WHAT'S YOUR SIGN?

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MATTHEW LOVECRAFT IS AN AUTHOR & PARANORMAL ENTERTAINER. 

HIS BOOK 

~ INSIDE OUT~
(a collection of poems)

IS AVAILABLE ON
THE 
KINDLE
FROM 

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IN VARIOUS OTHER ELECTRONIC FORMATS