David Chorlton

Without a Map

And though my lack of education hasn't hurt me none
I can read the writing on the wall
                                Paul Simon: Kodachrome

The wall says not to read
instruction pamphlets but press all
the buttons until
one works; it says to pick up books as casual
acquaintances and take them home
to read in bed; it says
the Earth belongs as much to jaguars
as it does to human beings
and language belongs to rough-edged
speakers as much as it does to scholars.
The wall advises never
to believe what advertising claims;
ignore the rhetoric by which
prime ministers and presidents attempt
to persuade the poor that
the rich are in the right; never
be impressed by resumes
but go to the source and taste the water.
When the government proclaims
a country as the enemy
the wall’s advice is to see it first hand
before reaching a conclusion.
Teachers come along in the night
and try to erase some of what is written
on the wall. They want more Shakespeare
and music played so often it lost
its echo, while the used book stores
are repositories of secrets
the discovery of which
are not rewarded by awarding a degree.

Lost in Ahwatukee

Where the traffic turns off Elliot
into the supermarket forecourt
a woman holds a handwritten appeal
on ragged cardboard
and speaks to the rising temperature
until late afternoon
when she crosses over
the boiling point of patience.

Last night thunder beat
against the dark side of the clouds
while a windstorm plucked a tree
from where the asphalt ends
and left it lying breathless on the ground.
The man who breaks the silence sounds
as though he swallowed lightning
and now he spits it out. He’s ragged
but he’s upright; he’s making
accusations of anyone he sees; he’s
a child of his times and there’s no one
to help, feed, or arrest him
as he moves across the parking lot
just dancing with the light

A woman missing, and the moon
howls. Her life peeled
away from her. A wrong turn. A mountain
trail. While nobody was watching
she flew up and over the ridge
to the city’s dark side. Only the owl
can know where she is, the winged
shadow who spends the night searching
for souls. And it looks
unlikely that she’ll be back for the first
Wednesday of the month to claim
her ten per cent saving at the Safeway store.

 

New Roof

The roofers down the street this morning
stood boldly in their yellow vests
against the clouds that massed around them
saying Welcome to America
                                           while they played
music out of Mexico
on a small machine that made
the time pass quickly. They worked and
drank water and then drank
some more.  They worked so fast
                                                     the sun
could not keep pace. They bathed
in heat. They stopped for lunch with the most
romantic strains for flavoring
a sandwich. Rest tasted good. Then
the forecast said to prepare
                                           for dark clouds.
For the washes to run along thunder’s path
and the lightning to stamp their papers.

 

David Chorlton is a longtime resident of Phoenix and for the past five years has enjoyed being close to a desert mountain park, which has provided more stimulus for writing than he had expected. Since two periods of hospital and rehab, he appreciates being home with the humble company of the local wildlife all the more and looks forward to uncovering further mysteries.