Something Rippling In The Pool Water Poem by Buddy Bee Anthony

My first impression
was you looked like someone who killed for a living.
your power strokes reminiscent
of some sadistic jack booted yard boss
in a cloudy, gulag memory
who savored beating, humiliating,
torturing and killing those under you.
Ivan the terrible of the Apartheid, Transvaal
of South Africa.
I sized you up from your muscle bound neck,
hard weathered face
and cold steely stare.
as one bone crushing mercenary.
swinging bats, of solid hickory
billy clubs.
With unyielding Popeye forearms
A 'Mercy is for sissies.', ..
War of attrition,
kill or be killed specialist.
Slash and burn the natives and their
landscapes as far as the eye can see,
Blow the bridges to hell, derail supply trains.
Bomb the water tower.
Torch the next perimeter.
Who would be fool enough to mess with a hell cat
like you?
I wasn't going to make that fatal error
At such a cost without benefits.
To endure a painful hazing,
by an experienced interrogator
A fearsome, riled up, silver back, male
Beating all who resist into unconciousness
With punishing briefcase sized hands
adept at ripping up phone books,
and swinging
baseball bats.
at detainee's within reach
throttling a long haired, peacenik like me...
A cockroach, in the wrong place
Terminal velocity in range of your jack boot.
Squish
Though, my survival instinct hadn't
yet fully kicked in.
I had enough sense not to speak.
no ice breaking, charming
or funny banter by me would be forthcoming.
As a pacifist, non-combatant.
I'm not shredded meat.
More pulp to be ground up
By a cruel, standard, code of uniform military justice,
A war hero could grease a lover like like me
by mistake just for sport.
I won't volunteer for
fire. Friendly or otherwise.
I lock my gaze to a space
at the far wall.
Stay still, or bolt, but, stay alive.
My mind racing for a marginally noble
means of escape.
I didn't want to look like
I was fleeing the scene.
I feel as Rambo did hanging on
by his fingernails to the high cliff
as the rifle happy cop,
flies just outside rifle range, taking aim, steadying
his shooting hand from a helicopter.
But, I'm not John Rambo and this isn't a movie

My imagination flashing, and blinking
all the faces of death
I exercise my right to remain silent.
Maybe I could pull off invisibility.
I feel glued in place.
If I'm forced to talk.
I'll have to make it brief.
An entertaining, funny, quirky strategy
could buy me time
to plead for clemency or escape.
I wonder what Chisel Head's thinking.
I grew up in proximity to a good number of
human nuclear reactors,
prone to sudden and explosively
violent eruptions,
No need to set off any charges here.
I'll burn a hole in the far wall with
a practiced, distant stare, keep my mouth shut.
until the threat
has passed.
Meanwhile
We're both boiling together like lobsters,
in this whirlpool bath.
The minutes pass, slowly.
Then it dawns on me.
I am an adult.
A civilian, living
in the 'civilized' world.
I belong here
I am a paying member of L.A.Fitness.
If he has plans to go medieval on me
It's his move.
I'm starting to feel almost cocky.
Right when I begin to relax
sinking deeper
into the therapeutic, heated whirlpool bath
Something amazing happens
He breaks the ice...
Giving me the lowdown
How he'd been long afflicted
with type 1 diabetes.
Endured two strokes
Went on kidney dialysis.
Showed me the injection sites.
Beat the cancer twice.
Lost 37 pounds.
Soon he'd be nearing the top of
the kidney transplant waiting list.
A one to two year wait.
I took a momentary morbid pleasure,
feeling he should have
a much longer wait for a kidney.
My eyes now focused on this wall
of a mountain man who speaks.
He confided how he had great grand children.
How lucky and blessed he'd be
to stick around long
enough to watch them grow up.
Being only 51,
He got hitched at age 14.
Walks with a limp.
wears an eye patch
when not in the water
Moves slowly, but
deliberately with a cane.
Wears short hair
military number two buzz cut.
Sports a prominent cleft chin
like two hot crossed buns smashed together.
Told me how he just bought the wife a sports car.
Going fishin' this weekend.
set to catch his limit of fish.
An avid salmon fisherman.
going to dip his line in the water
on ten acres he helped finance
another man to purchase.
Just robbed of 12,000 dollars from his home.
The dogs didn't bark or attack.
Also, miraculously,
they knew just where to look
where his money was stashed
under his mattress.
He suspects the thief was
somebody close to him
but not too close.
In five minutes of conversation
a bulls rush of more.
Owns well over a dozen guitars.
A few Les Paul's.
Recently snagged a local regionally famous working
artist's ten thousand dollar guitar for just two grand.
Proud how he was once a promising
drummer whose band went on tour.
still plays the drums with old friends at home.
also plays bass.
Mentions how he's slimmed down
from a hard body 250
to maybe 175 pounds
soaking wet.
Gonna be back in the gym soon.
Going to start pumping iron again.
Works security at two sports stadiums.
The biggest things that ended up dying
were my deluded, conclusions about him..
He wasn't Jesse Ventura, in the movie 'Predator'
with no time to bleed, in the movie.

He bleeds like the rest of us, and will
likely bleed a good deal more.
Was your Green Beret look more artifice than actual.
We exchanged handshakes and names.
I was surprised and relieved you addressed me,
I splashed you in
the eyes as my flight response
made my hand/eye snap my
handshake out of the water
Bone crushing grip.
I wondered if more pain was coming
but, so far there were no casualties...
I was 62 years old now
and a notorious, wise ass.
It has gotten me in trouble
on more than one occasion.
Trouble I don't need.
Being
nine years his senior,
big trouble isn't what I seek.
I've killed many things in my lifetime,
mostly, golden opportunities.
I may have selective memory or just memory loss.
I have memory of helping to create one son,
One that I know of.
no grandchildren yet, that I know of...
Now, It's me who can't seem to shut up.
It must be something rippling in the pool water.

Buddy Bee Anthony


All Publishing, copy and editing rights reserved as is by author

Re-edited 01/01/2023 @7: 21 AM Pacific Standard Time