THERE’S NO NEED FOR 9-1-1

I’ve been told (repeatedly) to establish a new identity with my singles status; Lately, I’ve been thinking about a snake shedding its skin; I find myself in a dreamlike state—oh, how should I put this?—revisiting the old me, an alleged cold-blooded snake-man trapped in an abandon store front window among the dead houseflies. Yet, I am no longer someone’s window-dressing, I can no longer be “put on display” for others to see, I can only be “talked about” while absent.

On the drive to and from work I listen to the haunting lyrics of Lana Del Rey’s “Born to Die.” I feel like I'm in an old black & white movie:

Don’t make me sad

Don’t make me cry

Sometimes love is not enough

And the road gets tough I don’t know why

Last week at my temporary place of rest a package arrived from Michelle Brooks; it’s breathing new life into a rather dull routine of working, running, writing, and whatnot. First, there’s an 8-by-10 photograph of me and my writer friends (Michelle, Jodi, & Mark) and a message: James Son, Go Away Blues; go away and leave poor me alone. There’s also a card wishing me a “Happy Holiday” along with Michelle’s latest chapbook from Nerve Cowboy:  “In Case of an Actual Emergency.” The title, as well as the poems, speak to me.

In “This Blockbuster Is Closed” the narrator recalls selecting movies with her once living partner:

But I see the now closed

signs and remember you, part of my past that will

never leave, even as I can’t go inside and look

for something that no longer exists, at least where I want it.

In “The Private Possession of Dangerous Reptiles” a live snake is shoved in a deep freeze for:

weeks, among the loaves of Wonder

Bread, only its eyes telling me it was

alive, trying to exist on its weight

alone, like so many people I know.

There are 29 poems in this collection—every damn one of them good. In “These Streets”: The house always wins, / no matter how long you’ve lived in it. In “Every Day”: We / are never free from each other, living in our various rooms, maybe, / dead even, and still thinking of you.

It’s kind of weird—the title—if not the timeliness of “In Case of an Actual Emergency” because it’s exactly what I needed at this point in my life. I’ve been re-reading these poems each night before going to sleep, before putting another day behind me.