More McKuen
Another Monday, Two Months Later
Now I have the time
to take you riding
in the car
to lie with you in private deserts
or eat with you
in public restaurants.
Now I have the time
for football all fall long
and to apologize
for little lies and big lies
told when there was no time
to explain the truth.
I am finished
with whatever tasks
kept me from walking
in the woods with you
or leaping in the Zanford sand.
I have so much time
that I can build for you
sand castles out of mortar.
Now I have the time
to see bad movies
and read bad books
aloud to you.
I can now waste time
on you and on myself.
Mid-week picnics.
Minding my temper in traffic.
Washing your back
and cleaning out my closets.
Staying in bed with you
long past the rush hour
and the pangs of hunger.
And listening
to the story of your life
in deadly detail
whatever time it takes
I have that time.
I've always wanted
to watch flowers open
all the way,
however long the process took.
I'd hoped that I might
take you traveling
down the block
or to wherever,
now I have the time.
Now I have the time
to be bored
to be delivered
to be patient
to be understanding,
to give you
all the time you need.
Now I have the time.
Where are you?
ONE
This is the way it was
while I was waiting for your eyes
to find me.
I was drifting
going no place
Hypnotized by sunshine
maybe,
barking back at seals along the beach.
Skipping flat stones on the water,
but much too wise for sand castles.
My castles were across the sea
or still within my mind.
There were the beach bars
and the other beach people
sometimes little bedrooms were my beach,
but I was drifting.
I must have thought the night could save me
as I went down into pillows
looked up through dirty windows
smiled back from broken mattresses
turned in Thunderbirds
and kissed in elevators.
I cried too sometimes
For me.
I loved every face I thought looked pretty
and every kindred eye I caught in crowds.
But I was drifting,
before you.
One day a man will take you on the high roads;
After a time he'll leave you someplace nice
or tell you where the big boys play.
They usually string out their games
in someone's shadow.
It could be yours.
More likely mine,
for mine's grown longer and there's more room here.
I ache to learn some new games now,
I've been away from town too long.
To see a new door open I'd go almost anywhere.
Even backward,
if I thought I had the time.
I'm mad at midnight
for the things it didn't do,
that doesn't mean I wouldn't take a chance again.
Few angels have been heard to sing
but many purr when stroked just so.
Lie down and leave your imprint in the sand,
my hand will trace it into everything I need.
That's how reality begins,
shadows made something real
or reality turned back into a shadow.
I need the sureness of the shadow world again.
To make me whole.
If I am anything at all
I'm what I've gotten out of sand.
Not only that washed in
from seas and islands
but any piece of earth
(however small)
a man can hold
securely in his hand.
Catch me in the sunlight.
Catch me pacing past the trees.
Build a fence around me
the moment that you see me running.
I'm so elusive sometimes
I miss the things worth stopping for.
I need.
Not more trees.
Not more rain in back-yard barrels
or racing down the gutters to the drain.
I need the comfort
of a friendly back or belly.
Seen sometimes in magazines
or made up in my mind.
You know the ones I mean
They shout out at you like the trees in April
Or blossom on you like strawberry smiles.
I have been assaulted by soft smiles at a distance.
The way some radios attack you from across the room
when you're strapped up in a barber chair.
The way you're raped by Muzak in an elevator.
Now comes the time for closeness once again.
Turn me over gently.
Hold me for the man I am.
Smooth out the wrinkles on my face
And love me - please.
Because I need.
The big boys play
in someone's shadow down the street
and I'm detached.
That's as it should be,
for I need more than games.
Take a chance on me.
I haven't any name
but what you'll give me when you leave.
The poems below are from the limited edition book, ...And Autumn Came. The book is copyright 1954, and was first printed in that year. The version I purchased at 17 was published in 1969. The author's note says that Rod began writing the book when he was nineteen. He makes no apologies for the writing style or content...nor should he. In his own words..."To apologize for it in any way would be to disavow the memory of a nineteen year old boy who started talking to paper before he learned to speak with people." The book cost me $55. I had to save for a while (I made .65 and hour) but sent in the extra $5 for special delivery. The day it came, I unwrapped it, jumped in the family car, drove to the city park which overlooked the lake, and read each word over and over. It was raining. I was crying. My life was changing forever. It was one of the happiest days of my young life.