Slow Mover edited
15/11/09 19:24 Filed in: Poems | Slow Mover
"Slow Mover"
by Stephen Shooster
Edited Susan C. Haley
Slow Mover Illustration (click to enlarge) 2009
There was a time . . . a roaring engine,
red and whites stripes, blurring to pink,
A Fast Mover . . . was my deepest need.
I'd roll down main street, revvin' at stoplights.
All heads would turn. All would envy my speed.
A Fast Mover . . . Me.
Then, my dad got news. Not the best,
A weakness in his arteries, a bomb ticking in his chest.
Within a week, my fast movin' world was still.
Upside down. Dad fights for his very life.
Mom and we brothers and sister play Scrabble in ICU waiting.
We fight for words to lessen our strife.
I let mom win every time to lighten her spirits,
Mostly because she's way better then me.
With a tube in his throat and heart exposed,
Dad's body cooled down.
We laughed irreverently in ICU waiting.
Nervously. Full-belly laughs.
We only held hope in our thoughts. No other choice.
Finally, eight hours later, dad, alive! Repaired.
Thinking back, all I wanted was a Fast Mover.
For dad, the only way back was through the chasm.
The only way back to our world, for him,
was through the deep valley, tested . . .
by a thousand challenges.
Bang! Restart the heart, stitch by stitch.
Thwack! Staples in the chest. Stitch by loving stitch.
Rolling down the caverned halls of O.R. into
the cave of 'step down', it's dark. He cant see a thing.
Attention flourishes, he hears noise. A subway assault.
"Who's breathing for me?" he thinks.
Lights flash. Drip . . . drip . . . drip
The enemy must have me tied down, he thinks
Kick! Nothing. No energy . . . sleep.
The only way back is through the chasm.
Bang! Awake again. Can't talk.
Drugs manage the captive . . .
You're awake, you're asleep.
Haze . . . noise . . . Who am I? Who's he? He thinks.
The robot in him responds . . .
"I must be captured!" Hands flail. "Must escape. Must warn . . .
Rest. Torture! Rest. Mind spins . . .
Marshaling strength, "I've broken my binds!"
No thought other then freedom. He jerks the tube
from his throat! Free . . . FREE!
Panic! I can't breathe . . . dying . . . trapped!
Medic! MEDIC! He sceams silently.
Saved! Oxygen . . . saved to escape!
Under fire. Head down! Taking fire. Grenade!
They got me! Captured. Truth serum. Can't . . . can't
fight no more! Delirium . . . Name, rank and serial . . .
Taking punches. I'm here, kind of . . . Delirium.
I hear fellow prisoners, "Get out! Get . . . RESist . . .
It's futile! Black shadows . . . Unconscious.
I'd be rolling, revving down main street, all heads turning.
A Fast Mover . . .
My buddies, they're saving me . . . away from the enemy.
Close call. Out of the cave. Weak . . . drifting. Sleep.
Safe for now. Re-group . . . Can't move.
Tired. Beyond tired. Stuck in the valley . . .
Dorothy? I call her name.
Strength returns. Slowly. Heart beating. Strength. Sleep.
Racing down main street in my Fast Mover. All heads turn.
Walls and toilets come into focus. Edge of the valley.
I see Dorothy. Kids. They get me on my feet.
So tired. They make me walk . . . walk anyway.
A walker, and teeth, and hearing aids, glasses.
I walk slowly, one step at a time, out of the valley.
The sun rises. Every morning, a routine.
Me, I get my slow mover ready for the new day.
One step. Another. I got my slow mover . . .
Who needs a fast car?
I got my slow mover . . . still. My dad. "Dad!"
His head turned . . .
Learn more about Susan C. Hanley at http://www.sucarha.com/
If you like this go to the following web site and sign up for the free newsletter for the infinite writer.
by Stephen Shooster
Edited Susan C. Haley
Slow Mover Illustration (click to enlarge) 2009
There was a time . . . a roaring engine,
red and whites stripes, blurring to pink,
A Fast Mover . . . was my deepest need.
I'd roll down main street, revvin' at stoplights.
All heads would turn. All would envy my speed.
A Fast Mover . . . Me.
Then, my dad got news. Not the best,
A weakness in his arteries, a bomb ticking in his chest.
Within a week, my fast movin' world was still.
Upside down. Dad fights for his very life.
Mom and we brothers and sister play Scrabble in ICU waiting.
We fight for words to lessen our strife.
I let mom win every time to lighten her spirits,
Mostly because she's way better then me.
With a tube in his throat and heart exposed,
Dad's body cooled down.
We laughed irreverently in ICU waiting.
Nervously. Full-belly laughs.
We only held hope in our thoughts. No other choice.
Finally, eight hours later, dad, alive! Repaired.
Thinking back, all I wanted was a Fast Mover.
For dad, the only way back was through the chasm.
The only way back to our world, for him,
was through the deep valley, tested . . .
by a thousand challenges.
Bang! Restart the heart, stitch by stitch.
Thwack! Staples in the chest. Stitch by loving stitch.
Rolling down the caverned halls of O.R. into
the cave of 'step down', it's dark. He cant see a thing.
Attention flourishes, he hears noise. A subway assault.
"Who's breathing for me?" he thinks.
Lights flash. Drip . . . drip . . . drip
The enemy must have me tied down, he thinks
Kick! Nothing. No energy . . . sleep.
The only way back is through the chasm.
Bang! Awake again. Can't talk.
Drugs manage the captive . . .
You're awake, you're asleep.
Haze . . . noise . . . Who am I? Who's he? He thinks.
The robot in him responds . . .
"I must be captured!" Hands flail. "Must escape. Must warn . . .
Rest. Torture! Rest. Mind spins . . .
Marshaling strength, "I've broken my binds!"
No thought other then freedom. He jerks the tube
from his throat! Free . . . FREE!
Panic! I can't breathe . . . dying . . . trapped!
Medic! MEDIC! He sceams silently.
Saved! Oxygen . . . saved to escape!
Under fire. Head down! Taking fire. Grenade!
They got me! Captured. Truth serum. Can't . . . can't
fight no more! Delirium . . . Name, rank and serial . . .
Taking punches. I'm here, kind of . . . Delirium.
I hear fellow prisoners, "Get out! Get . . . RESist . . .
It's futile! Black shadows . . . Unconscious.
I'd be rolling, revving down main street, all heads turning.
A Fast Mover . . .
My buddies, they're saving me . . . away from the enemy.
Close call. Out of the cave. Weak . . . drifting. Sleep.
Safe for now. Re-group . . . Can't move.
Tired. Beyond tired. Stuck in the valley . . .
Dorothy? I call her name.
Strength returns. Slowly. Heart beating. Strength. Sleep.
Racing down main street in my Fast Mover. All heads turn.
Walls and toilets come into focus. Edge of the valley.
I see Dorothy. Kids. They get me on my feet.
So tired. They make me walk . . . walk anyway.
A walker, and teeth, and hearing aids, glasses.
I walk slowly, one step at a time, out of the valley.
The sun rises. Every morning, a routine.
Me, I get my slow mover ready for the new day.
One step. Another. I got my slow mover . . .
Who needs a fast car?
I got my slow mover . . . still. My dad. "Dad!"
His head turned . . .
Learn more about Susan C. Hanley at http://www.sucarha.com/
If you like this go to the following web site and sign up for the free newsletter for the infinite writer.