A blacker cat walked the block on the far side
It’s tail tall and straight
Like a periscope
Above it’s agitated gate
Flickers the air
Head swivels
nerves twitch
Out in the open
Is not it’s favorite place
Alley cats don’t go that way
Give them a long, dark, dirty canyon
Walls to rub ‘gainst all day
Free to roam at night
Hunt the rat
which he prey
You don’t see him
on the si-walks
Come out to play
Deeper thoughts run down my dark alley
They run away
Like it or not
They just run away
And I can’t call
because
I got no say
because
Out in the open
Is not my favorite place
Either.
I’m sitting in an alley, right below my window, talking to E.Z. EATON, the "Back-Alley Laureate" himself.
A crime has brought us together. Simultaneous. Something I thought I had heard and something he swears to have seen – an apparent murder in the alleyway below my window – which is same alley EZ called home when he felt like it. I say 'apparent', but he saw it and I heard it. Murder.
The police have taken our statements, the body, and the car in which she was killed. So we sat, each reflecting on the night’s events. Lingering. I realized I had a choice to go back inside, and
EZ did not.
Are you a man of faith, there, EZ? Is that what got you through all you been through?
Nah. Jesus don’t belong here.
Why’s that?
This is a tough neighborhood.
How many tough guys you know have been nailed to the cross?
This here alley is for hard scrabble. Cold–hearted survivors. He didn’t survive.
We’re still talking about him.
You’re still talking about him. I’m too busy surviving.
Some might say you are not surviving.They may suggest that maybe you are just in the process of extinction. Erosion. Obsolete loser. Game over. Look around and tell me you actually survived.
We all in the process of extinction. If I am still here, then I am surviving.
There was a long pause in our conversation at that point, as he pondered it.
So what brought you, Here...?
The question, stark as it was...I regret my lack of subtlety, and it seemed to strike him like a punch, but he barely flinched. It was his reality. Drunk, he laughed and let his guard down. Then he Moaned caustic".….what happened….?I was a foolish philanderer. One drunk Doc...Drowned in his own shame...
and then he quickly diverted back to the present:
"I saw what happened."
Whatd’ya mean?
(When it gets real quiet, I hear things randomly, deep within the cortex, like a distant station broadcasting on an erratic signal. Right about now my head is playing the audio from a televised football game. High energy announcer and crowd cheers in the background. Occasionally a whistle blows and the fans react.)
I saw what happened here tonight...
Look around!
He did. Then threw his empty pint hard across the alley and it shattered against the brick wall opposite.
I did not survive. I am a lost soul.
And that is why Jesus belongs here.
Then you might as well bring the whole fuckin crowd down here. Confuscious, Bhudda, Rimbala Muala….Jeeesssussss!!!!!! Get down here and save my ass!
“We down here already!” , a voice came from deep in the alley,“...we just too drunk to walk that far.”
“You and me both brother!”
“Well I guess you fucked man!”
“I guess you right, Brother! I guess you right!” he thought a second, shook his head, and chuckled to himself, “That Jesus is one funny dude.”
