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Odin odin@aflx.com

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Books
· Perceptions

· ECHOSIS

· Prosetry at Work

· Said and Unsaid - Vol 1

· 3 WAY MIRROR


Short Stories
· Patience Waning

· Ladle Lines (A prosetry memory)

· A Gentle Man

· Pacing Love's Journey

· Gratitude

· A Sticky Conversation

· Blazing Now and Then

· Vulnerable Captivity

· The Kite That Would Not Bow

· Time


Articles
· War and Peace

· Desperation Breeds Desperation

· Preference Manifest

· Innocent Guilt

· Barbed Isolation

· A Place...

· Sanity's Loss

· Organs Anonymous

· Fatuous Beyond Absurdity

· Truth is One


Poetry
· The Life-long Pernicious Evil

· Cherishing Sounds of Silence

· Understanding the Unexplainable

· Reality of Another Kind

· Finding Trust Again

· Aromalicious Memories

· A Jungle-rain Pastorale

· Sediment Within the Soul

· Life's Enormous Green Chest

· Roadkill Memoriam

         More poetry...

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Rear Windows of Another Kind
By Odin odin@aflx.com
Last edited: Saturday, September 17, 2022
This short story is rated "G" by the Author.
       
Recent stories by Odin odin@aflx.com
· Patience Waning
· Ladle Lines (A prosetry memory)
· A Gentle Man
· Pacing Love's Journey
· Gratitude
· A Sticky Conversation
           >> View all 367
As society continues its generational obsession to becoming better than its predecessor, for many of us acceptance and reflection becomes our solace. Browsing through the back-story notes I made for one of the characters in “Echosis” ushered me back to prosetry-like experience in Manhattan’s ‘60’s, taking in my own inner-city theme park and the oft accompaniment of Leonard Bernstein’s “Age of Anxiety.”

 

Rear Windows of Another Kind

 

“Momma, can I have a…”

“I’m running late.

Maybe tonight.”

 

“Daddy can we go to…”

“Maybe when I come visit this week-end.”

 

Daily door shut.

Daily silence.

 

“Charlie, can I hold you tight?”

Woof  Woof, Woof Woof

 

How goes it?

So goes it.

Video games before lunch.

Stick ball around three.

Cartoons run into supper.

Bologna and spam on mayo spread toast.

Little Wonder Bread meatballs for Charlie .

Flip on the cop shows…solitary.

 

The day behind me,

Clocks tick,

Faucets drip,

Toilet keeps running.

 

Fire escape stolen adventures,

NR rated neighborhood stories,

Red lights come on,

Spoke-wheels glitter through their turf,

Dudes sportin’ funny fur coats on hot summer nights,

Ice pick heels clickin’ city-slave songs,

Beer bottle hail storms,

Shard-sparkling drifts in gutter’s once flowing,

Just another day,

Just another night.

 

Grandma saunters in,

Complains of 3-flight routine,

“Bannister’s loose,” she says.

“Careful, or gonna break your butt one day,” I says.

“You makin’ fun,” she says.

“No, grandma. Just thinkin’ sad thoughts.”

“C’mer, child,” she says.  “You okay?”

 

Grandma’s eyes are palm trees and sunsets,

Tree huts and swimmin’ holes,

Wooded trails with Charlie a-runnin,’

Love without rules,

Love without boundaries.

 

“Can I have a hug, Grandma?

   Can I?”

 


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Reviewed by Diana Legun
Reviewed on October 24, 2022
This piece makes my face hot reading it. It is raw. It is pure. And honest. The ache is matter-of-factness, the skim-milk truth of a reality….write what you know and I think you did here. The intro line about acceptance and reflection become our solace…absolutely. All this brought sound, scents, haste and heaviness, dog fur and broken glass. So profoundly personal, even eyes of palm trees and sunsets tell a story within a story. Those last two lines are eight very naked words and… throat-stricture-grade emotion. I love this. ~~ djl

Reviewed by John Herlihy
Reviewed on September 18, 2022
Great visuals. The poet's pen almost as if a filmmakers camera eye. The dialogue as a further dimension. Only in New York.

Reviewed by Ronald Hull
Reviewed on September 17, 2022
A great vignette of urban life for a young child who seems to be left abandoned during the day while both his parents have to rush off to their jobs with long hours and would have money for a babysitter, only the grandmother who can't be there all the time. Sad but, oh so true.

Perhaps observed out your rear window from your flat. The only thing that didn't seem quite right for 1960 was "video games?"

Ron