poem of the day 06.29.09

fans

i am out in this because of a dog
a goddamned dog from eight years ago
that used to sit on his porch until three or four
in the morning
and bark in our bedroom window while my wife
and i slept
i am out in this
eighty-seven degrees
to go and find a new fan
because one of ours broke and i need the noise
to sleep at night
and it started with that goddamned dog
and his barking
and his fat fuck owner, the one i threatened one night
when i was coming home from the bar
i was drunk and he was drunk
and there was the dog just sitting there waging its tail
like it wasn’t satan
and i knew all i had to do was walk up the driveway
and all hell would break loose
and it did
me and the dog and the owner
shouting and threatening and barking into the cold night.
but it did no good
my wife came up with this idea to get a humidifier
to help block out the noise.
i’d never had trouble with noise before until that dog, you see,
so i went and got the humidifier.
and it worked.
but i got addicted to it’s low buzz.
so i’m out in the eighty-seven degrees, on my day off no less,
four warm beers up on the day,
because one of our fans died and because of a goddamned dog
and a humidifier with a low buzz
and because of this puerto rican kid, in this brooklyn slum
we lived in
because he used to wait until eleven o’clock at night
to blast club music in his apartment.
it used to rain down us while we sat drinking in our
living room.
it rained down on us at night while we tried to sleep,
the little humidifier buzzing but not blocking out the sound.
my wife suggested we use a fan to block out the noise.
but i’d never had trouble with noise before until that dog
and the humidifier, and that puerto rican kid, you see,
so i went and got two fans out of the closet,
put them on chairs in front of the bed, and turned them on high.
they blocked out the noise beautifully.
but i’ve become addicted to the swirl of the fan.
spring, summer, winter, and fall they’re on in the bedroom
blocking out dogs and people and cars, and garbage men
smashing glass on tuesday mornings.
but today one of the fans died.
so here i am out in eighty-seven degree heat
a sweaty mess
to go to the store for a fan.
i buy this one called the cyclone.
but when i open the box there is a crack.
so i repackage the thing and i go back out into
the eighty-seven degree heat
all because of a goddamned dog and this fucking humidifier
and the prick kid that lived above us in the brooklyn slum.
and when i get to the store there’s this huge line for returns
and exchanges.
when i get to the front of the line the cashier tells me that
i need to go and retrieve the new fan myself.
so i get out of line and get a cart and get the new fan.
i buy a second fan too, spending ninety dollars
all because of this shit that’s gone down in the past.
the dog.
the humidifier.
the puerto rican kid with the club music.
the cars.
the people laughing on the streets.
the garbage men smashing glass on tuesday mornings.
and i get back in line at the returns and exchanges and the
cashier, she rings me out.
when i get home, i’m a sweaty mess again.
i put the fans on the hardwood floor and curse the past
as i go to the refrigerator for a beer that isn’t cold yet.
and i sit on the couch with the blinds drawn as neighbors
sit on lawn chairs in front of the apartment building,
laughing and gossiping, and bitching about all of my wine bottles
in the recycling bin in the basement.
and i look at the two new fans sitting there.
they look like salve owners to me, and i don’t turn them on.
i open up the can of beer in the summer sweat and heat
and i sit back,
hoping that it rains on the fourth of july this year.