An Elegant And Romantic Desire Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

When I walked into the Teacher’s Center
Doyle sat on the couch
eyes closed.
When I plopped down next to him
he opened his eyes
moist
as if he had been crying.
“The people
of this world are beyond
my comprehension, Bernstein.”
“What? ”
Doyle opened his notebook
and removed a newspaper article
which he had cut out
from the Daily News
The headline read:
CHILD-SLAYER KILLS SELF.
“It’s about a woman
who killed her three young daughters in 1956
then shot herself at their graves
32 years later. When it happened
a grand jury took no action against her,
instead sending the woman to
the Florida State Hospital in Chattahoochee
where she was hospitalized for 12 years.
How could such a thing happen? ” Doyle moaned.
“She cracked up.”
“Bernstein, please.
Even I could think of such a simplistic answer,
but I expect more,
much more, from you.
You delve into the secret creases,
and this case
got creases within creases.
Straighten it out for me.”
“Why this concern? ”
“Well, uh, to be honest,
now that you ask,
I’m scribbling lately,
entertaining the idea of writing a novel,
and this here story
could be the jump off point,
if I could only understand it,
well, the motivation anyway,
but I can’t make sense outta
the start,
middle,
or end of the occurrences.”
I stared at my friend
Peter Doyle
who at the age of forty-six
had suddenly
decided
to become a writer.
“The seeds of sorrow
never wither, ” I said.
“OH, ” burst out Doyle,
“can I use that title?
I’d appreciate a ‘Yes”
on this one
buddy boy
to get rolling
on
the great adventure
of
exploring the human soul
to remedy
the suffering
of the world
by telling people
of my discoveries
as
at last
I put pen to paper—
even fame may follow
HOLLYWOOD
who knows.