Author: stevekuusisto

My friend is out of the office
His automatic reply ziths to my inbox
Of course Shakespeare wouldn’t know
What this means
But tragedy is failed communication
I was going to give my pal
A hundred bucks
But not now
He’s out of the office
And as my grandmother
Used to say:
“I’d rather owe it to you
Than cheat you out of it”

Night comes, and with it
The atavistic neuroses—
Do the gods love me
What hides behind the moon
I play solitaire
While my Victrola
Plays zarzuela
“C’mon nature,
Tell me you see me”
And yes I think
I’m onto something

As if he’s having surgery
Uncle History counts backwards
But there are no doctors
Just crows on the lawn
And before him a book on prosthesis
Men without noses, etc.
Why is he counting down?
The atrocities never end
No feel good movie can help
Nine, eight
In his mind he sees
Furniture—empire sofas
Ghastly armoires
Seven, six
If only he can make
All that Louis the whatever
Go away
Then at last
The children will be safe
But he has to hurry
He sees Tycho Brahe
With a hole in his face
Freud hiding
Under a couch
And time is running out
For domestic magic

“No one has it as bad as you”
(Uncle History at his mirror
Clutching a razor)
Dust motes in sunbeams
Odd plumbing noises in the walls
He thinks of Rousseau
Who had trouble
With his nether parts
And reckons
Jean Jacques likely
Had it worse
So he decides to shave

We call it: “what’s on your mind?”
But there is no mind—only a spindly
Mushroom with threads
A gelatinous timid clock—
Everyone has one…

Aunt and Uncle History are playing
Dictator Monopoly—
Instead of streets
They have countries
Rawanda, Cambodia,
Soviet Union
There’s plenty of space
Germany, Chile,
North Korea
Ye Olde Yugoslavia
They roll the dice
Aunt History lands on Trumpistan
They both laugh
She has a “get out of jail free” card
“That was a close one,” she says
“Better wash your hands,” Uncle says
“You don’t know where that card has been…”

“You can go around the barn” says Aunt History
“Cows will watch you
But with minimal curiosity
Most people are cow-like
Even a cat has more
On the ball
Than your neighbor”
She’s in a mean mood
Cow neighbors
Chewing
Looking up
From chewing

Uncle History’s cousin, Nostalgia
Calls him on the cephalopod telephone
(Its a sort of deep sea communication)
Anyway, cousin wants to know
When the old ways will be returning
Women doing mindless work
Men eating straight from trees
Etcetera etcetera
But Uncle’s answering service
Takes the call, says—
“Sorry we’re not at home,
We’re out somewhere
Looking for future nostalgias…”

Do you remember the Charles Addams cartoon
Where uncle Fester grins
While packing his steamer trunk?
Travel stickers cover the thing—
Lusitania, Titanic, Andrea Doria…
“It’s time to go out on the sea,” Auntie says
“Dot dot dot, dit dit dit” Uncle says
“There’s nothing like mid ocean” Auntie says
“In fog” Uncle says
“Maybe we should travel like Mark Antony” Auntie says
“No trunk this time, just our hearts…”
“Being history our hearts can’t float…”
“Better bring the trunk…”

I’ve been lucky to have had some good friendships. I say lucky because I’m not an easy person to know. I’m opinionated, contrarian, suspicious of cant, disposed to a generalized distrust of earnestness. I don’t believe in “theory” when applied to literature or culture. Literary theory is just opinion that hasn’t been subjected to serious rhetorical analysis. Jacques Derrida on animals is not worth the read. Sara Ahmed’s work on happiness is nonsensical. You can critique anything. This doesn’t make the activity valuable. As I say, I’m not easy to know. I suspect I’d have gotten along well with the late Christopher Hitchens.

When I was 15 and staying at a Key Biscayne resort with my father (who was on a business trip) I found myself alone in an elevator with Melvin Laird, Nixon’s secretary of defense. The year was 1970. My hero was John Lennon. I looked at Mel and said, “How’s your war going Mr. Laird? Are the body counts where you’d like them?” I was anorexic, stringy haired, and rebarbative. He glared and said nothing and bolted when the doors opened.

I’m not easy to like. Unless you’re against war, dislike social hypocrisy and all the “isms” as we say.

Which means knowing also who you are not.

Which means knowing what Bob Marley knew when he said:

“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for.”