Richard Suffers Head Injuries; Misc.Years

 


My life has had no shortage of physical injuries.
Not that I've ever been fatally wounded nor suffered any lasting/obvious injury in
that time: I've never fallen off a skyscraper or been thrown from
a bridge or had my shit splattered in the street by oncoming
traffic I didn't notice. I've never been attacked by a shark nor
raped by a dolphin. 

The first big one I was 5 years old
and I had to have the bloody, gooey mess of the back of my skull
sewn back together like some violent Jackson Pollack painting
or when me and Bobby were playing in the snow
of his/our 300 ft. tall driveway in Upstate New York, and...Bobby was
packing down snow with a shovel, and he told me not to walk behind
him, which I did, or the time we rode the plastic sleighs
down the driveway and I smashed my forehead
underneath the truck that was there that
couldn't make it up the hill for the snow.

(I wonder if this sort of behavior isn't common in genetics, like some of us
aren't actually predisposed towards risking anything like death.) 

Another time, a bunch of us were hanging out at Dave the weed-
dealer's house-- and Crazy Kevin, who was about Dave's age, 10 years
older than most of the people who bought weed from Dave --
Crazy Kevin sent me out to his car to get something, specifically
instructing yours, truly to Not lock the keys in the car, "I'm
going, I'm going," I locked the keys in the car. We, as a democratic
society agreed that I should be punished... Scott, with a
Mike Tyson punch swung at my frontal lobe, rattled everything
I did & didn't have.... 

Later, in 2017, in Compton, California, after a night in the hospital
on voluntary suicide watch, while I was sitting with my eyes
shut, trying to maintain some small reality of my own,
this white boy who was moaning and whining about everything and
nothing to his sister suddenly sat up from where he was sitting
across the room (without my having the least inclination of the future)
and began to punch me in the face, repeatedly, with full
strength, tearing my nostril and punching until I was like
some mess that a dog would leave after vomiting crimson and
viscous hate like some tortured cacophony of enmity & sin.  

I haven't been in any hospitals in a while, now that I think of it.
I haven't even laid down all afternoon because I'm too depressed
to move... I don't really even know that any of this has any
special meaning besides that they are all things that actually
happened...and I always wanted to get that last one in a poem. 




****


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