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Harold Rodinsky

Rest Stop Sex

Rest Stop Sex

On a long car trip the bladder is in charge of distance.

My bladder started screaming 6 ½ hours after

as I crossed the Texas state line into New Mexico,

the first rest stop was at Anthony NM,

the next rest stop was thirty miles west, near Las Cruces

there was no way I could make it that far

I pulled into the Anthony rest area

I parked, jumped out, ran to the Men’s

there was a line for both urinals, the stall was occupied,  i waited in line

reading the sign that said watch out for snakes,

a two foot space at the bottom of the walls provided fresh air and the occasional snake.

i didn't see any

my turn , the urinal next to the stall that was making creaking noise

like there was a giant inside.

a short small guy came out of the stall closing the door behind him

a four day beard kind of guy

and went to the sink and began combing long greasy hair,

unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth,

smirky grin gazing back at him from the mirror

dusty cowboy boots dirty finger nails

gingham shirt with silver collar points, string tie and a big ass Texas-sized belt buckle

I was still peeing when another guy came out of that stall

wearing a light blue izod shirt, madras bermudas, thick glasses, crew cut blond hair

joe-college from the 50’s on the east coast near Boston or Rehoboth

looking dazed, numb, out of focus, not plumb

walking like he was holding a memory between his butt cheeks

I passed up hand-washing and headed back to my car,

twenty minutes later I was having a breakfast at Mcdonald's in Las Cruces

on University ave, on a tiled patio, looking up at the Organ Mountains

a cup of nearly good coffee, and sausage-egg-biscuit no cheese

clean restrooms, and  uninterrupted time to review, rewind, review again

somehow sex at a roadside rest stop,  just before dawn in a crowded men’s room,

floors still wet from earlier hosing-cleaning, seemed gritty

Maybe it was the setting, the characters, the players, the strangers?

meeting for the first time, last time, only time

melding  body parts in that cramped stall with wet floors,

people coming and going, excitement about getting caught but being careful:

no moaning no cries of pleasure no feeling no emotions no unnecessary touching

just penetration, movement, orgasm, zip up, leave the stall

be unobtrusive no hints, just satisfied grins, ear to ear smiles

straighten your clothes get in your car continue driving east or west

only a visceral memory remains

and it begins to  fade with each mile,  

practice makes familiar, learn the rules

the signs, the signals

the gestures and glances

that say,  “I’m available.”

Conversation Mysteries

i dont really know

the meaning

of others’ words

or the true intent

of my agendas

hidden

even from me

eyes dont lie

but sunglasses mask

narrowing pupils

and wrinkles

around the eyes

that change with content

I cant see you

when you text me

phone me

email me

I risk wrongness

arguing

failure to thrive

loves lost

when I guess

which I mostly must

now

Máscara Funeraria

the final detail

          after washing the body

          and wrapping her in  a shroud

          made from fresh new clean linen

          spun and woven for this deed

          placing her in the coffin

          face up to see her fate

          hands in reverence across her chest

a mask of hammered bronze

placed over her face

so fate wouldn't recognize her

after the funeral

when the dead were gone

the living walked in the world of shadows

       half alive

       barely  moving

             thank you for coming

             thank you for your prayers

and retreat suddenly

      as if shoved by an invisible hand

      behind a  mask

to dwell in the past

             in the grave

             in the sorrow

lonesome are the dead

lonesome are the living

Smoking at 10

I’ll meet you at the little league park

okay

how about we walk together?

we lived a couple of blocks from each other

and usually went through the hedge anyway

okay but Ill meet you at market

the wilshire market next to the fremont pharmacy

a few blocks from our houses

and on the way to the little league park

separated by a fence in the outfield from the cemetery

graves watched the centerfielders

we got there about the same time

did you get some?

yes I got a whole pack

good

we started up Fremont street 10 blocks

and half-mile journey

half way he said I didn't get any matches

we can stop at the Beaumont Grocery

you can go in …

tell them the matches are for your mom

are you sure? yes!,  with a shove towards the door…

I went in and wandered around until I found kitchens matches

wooden stick strike anywhere

small boxes two-cents each

I had a nickle

I bought two and got a penny back

they never asked me anything…..

five more blocks

and we were at the ballpark

no locked gates in those days

the season was over

the infield grass need cutting

we headed to the home team dugout

no one could see us in there

but there wasn't anyone anyway

the season was over

summer was over

and school was just starting up again

we sat on the bench

where three years earlier  

I had my first encounter with betrayal

and public humiliation

but not without much energy at the  moment

because  I was going to smoke cigs…

to break a rule

to do what the adults did

and not get caught

and in the fourth grade

camels a whole pack

what his dad smoked

won't he miss them?

no he buys em by the cartoon

ten at a time

he carefully unwound the the little red stripe of celophane

and ripped open the tin foil

exposing little brown faces in white jackets

looking up at us

he picked one out

with his thumb and forefinger

handed it to me and said

here you first, you have the matches

I took the little box of matches

out of my pocket

pushed out the inner box

took out a strike anywhere match

and scratched it on the bench

at first I held the cigarette

between my fingers

and struck the match on the bench

and held the flame to the end of the cigarette

it was my first time

he laughed

no you have to put it in your mouth

and suck on it when you're holding the match in front

I dropped the first match in the dirt

it started to burn my fingers

put the cigarette between my lips

and lit another match

holding it close to the end of the cig

then started sucking

then started coughing

then burned my fingers

and handed him the camel

boy this is great !!

Betrayal at 7

the internal chaos and fear

sometimes

wrought

by the image of betrayal so long ago

permeates in the now,

when reason and trust flee

you were a child that Saturday

just 7 years old

exploring differences at the park

not knowing not suspecting

you would be the topic of show and tell

on Monday

of the fourth week

of the first grade

you wanted so badly to fit in

to belong

to have friends

she was so proud

to raise her hand

to be the first

to tell about her weekend

       your weekend

and for that moment you were the fool

and ran in shame

and terror’

uncontrollably sobbing

buried your face

in the teacher’s dress

the shame and fear are long gone

but the images remain

along with resentment

It is Done

it is done, turn the page
the final submissions are read
ciphers noted, converted, published
and along with feeling accomplished
come feelings of sadness, relief and joy

I have quit associations
that have provided me with inspiration
exasperation perspiration facilitation
but mostly joy happiness and perennial youth

now it is time to enter another chapter
with fewer demands and different mandates
somehow older and more adult
with less randomness and chaos
and much less excitement

I am free now
     only a prisoner of my mind
but this confinement allows me, at least,
to stay current in my own life without guilt,
angst or dread
when I sit with a good book, good coffee
and a cat or two,
dozing in the morning sun

Eleazar

he came-to in the middle of a junction where two roads crossed

he didn’t remember who he was, or how he got to where he was

or even where ‘here’ was

he sat up and looked around

not seeing anything or anybody he slowly got to his feet

and walked to the side of one of the roads

the sun was just coming up so he could tell

which, was east and thus all the directions

none of which helped him in any way

from there he could see he was at a crossroads

and each road that met there, ran off east/west and north/south

disappearing into the shadowy distance

he got up slowly trying to shake off the numbing dregs of uncertainty

with fuzzy indistinct ethereal images of actions

people and places, jellyfish-like unsubstantial ghostly and fleeting

he saw his arms were covered with brown dust

put his hands to his hair neck

his hands came away with the same fine soil

he looked at his clothes and

saw that they were also covered in the same soft dirt,

as if he had been buried in the earth