Lucy's Field

There was this place see...

...and it went something like footloose, fancy-free, freshly-fucked with fifty dollars in my pocket and nothing but time and vanity to spend it on...



Lucy in the front seat, top down, summer heat, and the sounds of all those old-time songs cascading down the side of Stanford Pits

What the fuck was it all about? The cigarettes...the noise...the anger

The death.

So much death.

What was that about national security?

Was it about the justifying,.

...the justifying that cut a hundred thousand down...

....that cut two hundred thousand down...

....that cut three hundred thousand down...

How many hundreds of thousands had to be cut down?

Was it those hundred thousand remote control murder moments?

Was it those Nobel prize winning drone war crimes?

And we were there.

We were there.

Lucy, why did I go?

Into that terrible blaze of violence, why did I go?

Pass the whiskey. Pass the rum.

Pass the vodka. It doesn't matter now anyway.

Grew up once, you know? Was young once. Watched Charlie's Angels on the floor.

Watched the Flintstones on the couch at lunch.

Watched when they shot Reagan. Watched when the Challenger people died. Watched when AIDS began to kill people I didn't know. Watched when everyone went to jail. Watched when my neighborhood started to rot. Watched when the factory guys lost their jobs. Watched when the bombing started on the TV.

Watched when the bombing started on the TV.

Watched when the bombing started on  the TV

I watched

Lucy is looking angry. Lucy is looking sad.

Lucy is looking at me.

The table seems too small. Why is the table so fucking small?

She is still looking at me.

Lucy I want to tell you something. I want to tell you something important. Do you remember when I told you I loved you? Do you remember when I told you that nothing mattered to me more than you? Do you remember?

Well none of it was true. Or maybe some of it was. Sorry. I can't tell anymore. Maybe it was all true and I loved you.

Maybe I loved you then.

Maybe nothing mattered more than you.

Maybe none of it matters.

Maybe none of it matters.

Maybe none of it matters.

How can anything matter anymore?

There are all these things that lead from here to there to you.

When they shot me I felt it first in my back. Terrible black pain. I was tasting my own blood. The medic was there and she was hooking me up to the IV. Terrible black pain. I was tasting my own vomit.

You know that the back door always sticks right? You know that the drawer won't open? You know that all the plants have died?

You know that the room needs to be repainted.

The room needs to be repainted.

I went out that night. Into the field. There was no one there.

For a moment I thought I saw you across the way. I called to you.

But you were already gone.