A Sad Disaster Worthy To Be Buried In Profound Silence Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

I sat inside Ruby’s Bar and Grill
facing the vast Atlantic
with the old guys
as the storm raged on
snow pummeling
the boardwalk
no seagulls in the sky
the pint of Thunderbird
empty
liquor store
a mile away
Ruby the owner
playing marathon Back
because the sounds soothed
his soul,
Suddenly I jumped up
and Joe Foley said,
“You’re a good man, Bernstein
getting us
another pint
in weather like this.”
I stared at Foley
eyes brimming with
with such profound hope
my heart melted in admiration.
Twenty minutes later
I returned with two pints,
one hidden in my back pocket
Bach still on
but louder than before.
We started sipping
well, swallowing really:
the first pint went fast
so I whipped out the second
Joe standing
proclaimed my name
Finally I moaned,
“I used to love Bach’s
Cello suites.”
“Is this gonna be about
Dentist Herman Swick? ” asked Elbert A. L’Hommedieu.
“The name’s Sicko.”
“The card you showed me said
Dentist Herman Swick.”
“Leave Bernstein, alone, ” said Joe Foley,
“the man’s a saint
close to it anyway.”
I smiled
went on:
“All he played was Suite number 1
performed by Rostropovich
hence I heard those heavenly notes
time and time again
after three visits I hated Bach
yet all my life I loved his sublime joy
and just because that Sicko
played it over and over
while the infernal drill
penetrated the soft tissues of
my cerebellum.”
“Enamel, ” said Elbert A. L’Hommedieu.
.“Always the brain, ” I moaned,
“always the brain—
with me.”