Empty Classroom

There is a sense of the color having been drained from the air
in the classroom, after the last lecture.
The emptiness takes on an echoing depth - 

like a whale singing a seeking song into the darkness -

the song reaches out and out.

The chairs with their arm desks are the same,

and the lectern has not moved. 

The white board needs to be washed down

with its layers of blue and black smudges

like a boxer's face, two days after a fight. 

But everything is different 

the moment the door closes behind the last student.

You may see them individually

on campus or in town -

a year from now one will write politely, asking for a recommendation.

But the class - this leviathan with which you have wrestled

and tried to tame,

struggled with late at night in the waters of darkness

strategizing the maneuvers for the next day -

this thing you have intermittently loved and been enraged by - 

it existed in and in between.  

Now it has dissolved into component parts

and drifted away like driftwood in clumps of two or three -

with a friendly wave and a "thank you"

it has ceased to be. 

And who are you, standing unopposed,

nothing to challenge 

and nothing to confirm?

**

Audio: https://anchor.fm/honest-chaos/episodes/Empty-Classroom-e11ol0q

YouTube: https://youtu.be/pbyWL80F9-A

the game

I didn't hear the coach at first

pulling me out of the game early -

I thought I had another inning or three -

or was it another quarter? another period? 

another match? a few more holes?

I thought I'd be walking off of the field

with everyone else, shaking hands, slapping backs

and maybe in years to come,

I'd sit in the stands

and reminisce about the good old days.

Instead, here I am walking back to the locker room

alone.

I wave to the custodian sweeping the halls

under the hard fluorescent lights

pushing a broom that looks like a giant white moustache.

I take off my uniform and fold it neatly on the polished bench

and pull on my jeans.

As I push the aluminum bar to open the door to the parking lot

I am struck by how dark it has become,

how quiet.

The game goes on

and on,

but I no longer hear the cheers from the fans

or the referee's whistle.

I played well, I hope, as I step through the threshold.

I'd like to imagine they will talk about

a while

over beers tonight

or next season when the play 

would have been just right to put me in.

For a moment,

it would be like I was there again.

**

audio: https://anchor.fm/honest-chaos/episodes/the-game-e11ibke/a-a5m4p8p

YouTube: https://youtu.be/ZrWFDSliOzY

Bargaining with the Devil

I've been bargaining with the devil -
I've promised him every winter morning's brilliant sun
reflecting off of the snow,
and I've laid on the table, like a street merchant,
the quiet of the house just before midnight.

I've handed over, as a gesture of goodwill, 
the smiles and small gestures
of my friends and colleagues, and even strangers.
And of course, as an ante,
my ability to sit and listen to the rain or wind.

The devil nods in gratitude with each proffer,
as if I am so close to his reservation price,
but he only takes
and he has never really said
there was a deal to be had.

**

audio: https://anchor.fm/honest-chaos/episodes/Bargaining-with-the-Devil-e105q7r

YouTube: https://youtu.be/G3qeAd0alws