The Fear Of
The fear of...
being thought of
the less
than what one thinks of
railing vengeance against detractors
three
or four generations
all that one might stretch back to
and even then
with all the woes blights missed/thwarted chances
the few that one gets to know
in a tightening
district of stifling confinement
a few might remember
and try to forget
the awkward recall of some mishap
the not-so-good side of
at worst
the public suicide in the family
something left over funereally
if only one knew how
could agree to let go
of one’s eddying image
the regrets that teach too late
does it matter who thinks what
years shave away the three-day old beard on a Monday
the thoughtless throttling words of
anger
and the repeated awkward clanger
the longing lascivious looks unrequited
futile fights in courts spilling over in Kafkayesque dreams affidavits closure of communication of proof in the solicitor’s sheets the plaidoirie that omits the crucial documents in the wrapped womb of watching TV alone eating one’s insides out the mountains of hours hunched over shoring up that image zeroed in from diverse angles
really who or
what
those who leave behind a name
leave not their inner laces graces meannesses gawkiness
their stench nor sneezes
only their fear of
being thought of
less
than what they thought of
dearly cherished mis-spelt polished names
the-dare-may-the inhabits the unkempt bearded
beggar taking a crap on the edge of the thoroughfare
by the Elysian fields of mode-minded graces
in full view of the policewoman on the beat
won’t this his forbears remember
in triumph
May 23, 1997
From the collection (re-worked) : longhand notes (1999).
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
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