ALL THE WAY (bit of prose poetry)

My response to NewWorldCreativeUnion's Wednesday Wake-up Call




            They thought me crazy; I’ll show them. 

That stupid shrink in his bright white coat, I told him I was sane as his coat needed color.  They didn’t chase me; they didn’t bother. 

I’ll show them how sane I am.  Laughter. . .perfect music in my soul; a crazed one’s cackle they might say, but this dark night I’ll turn to day.  By the gods, by George and Jim, I’ll not be a one hour whim. 

How cold this night and hard this bench!  And I’m alone in this park’s stench.  Tomorrow, they’ll be everywhere, people in their sad little lives of mockery and fear, but I. . .I will stand—alone—right here.

They’ll all walk by and wonder, “why?”  But not a one will care.  I’ve asked one bite before they tossed their leavings into the grass.  They’d rather throw away their food, as feed one they’d see as not as good.  That’s ok.  Tonight, I will go all the way.

“Do it!” I hear the voices say.  And come what may. . .I will know I didn’t just try. . .I went all the way.

I fetch the can from where I’d hid it.  Stolen from someone’s garage; they should have locked the door.  The cold metal’s sweet to the touch, and soon bright fire will warm my crotch.  The stench of gasoline (It’s only rank to them but sugary—sweet to me.) teases my nose and even my taste buds as I draw a liquid circle around me.  What once was will ever be!  The gods will bow to ME!  I bathe myself in gasoline, find the match—it’s dry and clean. 

I see myself engulfed in red; my heart is thumping in my head; for one brief moment, I’m filled with dread.  My thumbnail sets upon the match, prepares to rake the fiery life from it.  I scream, “By Gods! Go all the way!  Let’s burn this night as bright as day!  Do it!  Do it!  All the way!”

            I feel the thump; the match strikes not.  The burly cop asks, “What’ve you got?”  I’m laying on my circle’s outside and staring at the policeman’s face.

I scream at him.  “Go on!” I yell.  “Let me find my rightful place!”

Now I sit in this Hell’s cell; they say I’m crazy, but I know well it’s them that need the magic spell, for I was one with gods to burn.  If only they would ever learn choice is freedom and freedom rules.  I guess freedom’s not but concept in schools.

                                                            --Monty Wheeler