Failure is a funny ghost I saw as a child
It lurked around corners at dusk
When the fields and courts darkened
The air got heavy and the world felt different
Like it was ending…
Then my mother’s voice sounded like an alarm
Telling me to get in
If I pretended not to hear, my father whistled
The original two-minute warning
There is trouble out there on the dark streets
In the blind spots between the arc lamps
Streetlights like willows locked in prayer
Yellow paint onto cracked pavement
Exposing hidden bolts and pieces of greased metal
Jewels accidentally thrown to the curb
Sewers with pink balls and other treasures
I would lie prone and peer between the grates
Then at dusk trouble stalked the corners
From around the block past brick stoops
A new element unearthed when the sun fell
It hid from the familiar
On the dark squares where the arc lamps blinked
I pretended not to hear my mother’s voice
A glimpse of failure knocking
That peculiar ghost that I remember
It gave a chill and would come back in a dream
The dream where I walked home at night
And the block was the same without my house being there
Then I felt the cold wet skin of failure
The bottom
The teasing apart of what is irretrievable
From what is the gift from the forced dream
And there was a lot of failure in it
Not like anything I felt before in everything I did
Until the bottom took everything with it
Like flypaper falling and careening back and forth
Against and onto the precious attachments in life
All of it went down the storm drain
What I protected and worked for stuck to it
It all went down in a tumult
Through an imperceptible crack in the pavement
As the body blows hit
And took me to my knees
All my creations
All my personal preservations
Dissolved in that clear amber liquid
As I pretended to stand tall
Silently while my insides cried for help
And the force that pushed me past people
Got weaker and started to feel tears
And limp while I tried to walk straight
My vantage point formed soft edges
The burnished corners of a sepia photograph
Harmless and torn
Stained black from a secret flame inside
A brown-out takes the air back to memory
With the feeling I get from an old photo
The warmth of looking at childhood
With a lens that tells me forgotten stories
From a time when I existed only in photographs
Where I never know if that is really me
Unless you tell me I wasn’t someone else and yes
Wearing a medal on my grade school coat
When I didn’t know what life was throwing at me
There was only pure existence and keen perceptions
And time that slowed into frozen moments
Captured in the butterfly net of childhood reverie
A mantle of surprise
Like a wave splashing my eyes everyday
Faces and voices and hands in three dimensions
Disconnected from words
Those sounds only put into the air for needs
Like the shapes of cumbersome clouds above
And giant ants working in sidewalk crevices
All this felt real
While people forced me to witness their confusion
And it made me shy to the world
It was all an experiment
I didn’t ask questions
Attention to small things was full throttle
And failure had no name
Along with the greased bolts and pieces of broken machines
Cast into the street with the pink rubber balls
And treasures caught in the sewer’s grasp
Like my own memories
So much felt out of reach back then
Inside the unyielding childhood desires
And the want was so strong everyday like crushing waves
While failure wondered what I would call it
And nothing stuck to it yet
Because this was just a rehearsal and a trick
In front of the curtain
All day until the sun went down
Then the mood shifted at dusk
And something changed
Felt different
The air got heavier and caution crept in
Nervousness like cat’s whiskers
Discovered the instinct of failure inside
As darkness covered the basketball courts
Now it wasn’t obvious what to do
The force of testosterone’s headstrong surety stepped back
And scared a new way in
Trouble stalked the corners from around the block
A new element unearthed itself
It hid from the familiar
On the dark squares of the pavement
Where light from the arc lamps blinked
It was the reason your mother’s voice came out now
I pretended not to hear it
A glimpse of failure knocking
Masquerading as sudden intrigue
A cryptic shadow of excitement
In the forbidden mysterious landscape
And as I look back on those old photos
The black and white streets with brick stoops
All carved into my memory
Every chisel and hammer blow on the cave walls
Yet I’ve seen them in magazines and almanacs
As I dared myself to court failure
Meet the fleeting ghosts that had no heart
In all this I had it so good
The warm house with wood paneled study
Orange shag carpet
Sony Trinitron color TV
Comic books piled high
Storing my own vivid secrets from life
Into a part of myself who was very different
From my parents or other people
A slice of soul that didn’t match up
With anyone
From school or the streets
I couldn’t see the mindset
Doing, beating, winning and trouble
So I split myself in two
While I watched from afar
And the other part hesitated and analyzed
And pretended to be part of
Failure was having others notice the difference
Deep down inside the jokes, the lies and bragging
Into the future where the façade crumbles
And that boy in the pictures remembers the man later on
Who still watches from afar and sits squarely
In one seat, one arena, one station
An authentic friend not always permanent but
Present and accepting of failure as a teacher
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