NIGHT NOISES
by
Richard F. Yates
Copyright © 2010 by Richard F. Yates
The following poems were previously published in other places, sometimes in slightly modified form:
“Dawn” appeared originally in Clockwise Cat
“Don’t Look Now” appeared originally in Words-Myth
“Dream, 26 Feb. 2008” and “num-num” appeared originally in Counterexample Poetics “Fun!,” “Monstrous,” “Our Clawses Intersect,” “Pretty Little Things,” “The Planter Box,” and “Wandering at Night” appeared originally in Mad Swirl
“Hotel” and “Night Noises” appeared originally in The Calliope Nerve
“Its Pusht” appeared originally in Window Teaser Zine
“Lighthouses” appeared originally in The Salmon Creek Journal
“Monster Duck, Glowing Bull, and One Eyed Frog” appeared originally in Word Slaw
“The Tale of the Woodsman” appeared originally in Flash Your Tale Zine
“Zombie Fly” appeared originally in Word Riot
CONTENTS 1. Dawn 5
2. The Damned Dog 6
3. The Walk 13
4.Don’t Look Now 19
5. num-num 22
6. Lunar Ploy 23
7. Fun! 24
8. Mountains 25
9. The Tale of the Woodsman 26
10. Wandering at Night 27
11. Up the Stairs 29
12. Dream, 26 Feb. 2008 31
13. Lighthouses 34
14. Snow Driving 35
15. Monster Duck, Glowing Bull, and One Eyed Frog 37
16. Pretty Little Things 39
17. Its Pusht 41
18. Night Noises 43
19. Identity Politics 48
20. Zombie Fly 53
21. Our Clawses Intersect 54
22. My Friends 55
23. Monstrous 56
24.Sleep? What’s That? 57
25. The Planter Box 65
26. Memory Problem 70
27. Hotel 72
"Dawn"
I might wear a Dracula cape
to the wedding
And make certain I leave the reception before dawn
"The Damned Dog"
When I was about nine years old
my mom brought home a dog It was a poodle
which isn't that cool
but having a poodle is better than not having a pet when you're nine
Back then my mom, my two brothers, and I
lived in a rather ghetto-esque part of town on a dead end street
abutting an oily slough
On one side of us lived a grouchy old religious couple who had pissed us off
when we first moved into the area
I can't remember what they did
but for the next two years
we bombed their house with eggs
at least once a month
On the other side of us
was a vacant lot
a rarity in our area
where some previous owner
had planted a few apple trees
and a cherry tree or two
Just past this miniature orchard
was our other neighbor
a crazy old guy
probably a veteran
but from what I couldn't tell you who liked to get liquored up and scream obscenities from his porch at anyone willing to listen
We liked this guy
called him Jim
although I don't recall if that was his real name or not and even though we liked him
we still tossed a rock
through his window
every once in a while
in the hopes of getting him rolling
on a good yell
especially if he'd been quiet for too long
Back to the stupid dog: Like I said, he was a poodle
Mom must have liked poodles
because she always seemed to be bringing those home We named this one Shasta
I don't remember why
Looking back on this part of my childhood now I don't think we had that dog for very long although he was destined to become one of my most lasting childhood memories
I think he was mostly an "inside" pet
although I don't actually have any memories left of the dog being inside the house
What I do remember is taking him outside
once
and hooking his collar
to this weak little chain
that was supposed to keep him from running away
Apparently the chain broke
or I didn't fasten it properly whatever the cause
the damn dog got loose
and bolted straight into the street and directly under the back wheel of a passing Station Wagon
I can still see the entire thing:
Him running, bee-line
straight into the road
The car rolling past
Hearing him scream his little doggie yelp as the tire rolls directly over his body
Then this twisted, flopping, screeching creature half rolls, half crawls
its way under our little red Datsun and throws up
blood and chunks of hot-dog
The Station Wagon stopped
I turned and dashed into the house and yelled
"Shasta's been run over by a car!" My mom thought I'd said
that one of my brothers had been hit a particularly horrifying thought
because I had been run over
when I was four
broken collar bone, punctured lung two months in the hospital
deep emotional damage for everyone but I lived
and Mom wasn't sure
her luck was going to hold out
if another kid got crunched
But it wasn't one of her kids just the stupid dog
I was crying
She was relieved Like everyone else in the neighborhood the guy who hit our dog was old like "almost ready to die" old to my young eyes
and he was standing there saying how sorry he was
and I believed him
My mom's boyfriend at that time
or maybe it was my aunt's boyfriend
I can't remember which
(we had a whole string of relatives
who came to live with us at that house
at one time or another
and mom went through at least three or four boyfriends so with all of these bodies coming and going I can't keep the "who"s or "when"s
straight anymore)
Anyway someone came out of the house
and tried to get a look at the dog
who was still alive and whimpering
under the car
I've noticed
since my younger days that the world has changed when it comes to pets
Most animals we got when I was a kid came from ads in the paper with titles like
"Free to Good Home!"
We got our pets cheap
we fed them cheap food
lots of leftovers from dinner we played with them for a while they'd die
for one reason or another and we'd get a new one
In that world
where pets were basically disposable it was decided
that the dog wasn't going to make it and that it would be more humane to put it out of it's misery
I cried more I don't remember who carried out the sentence but they undoubtedly saw them self as angel of mercy
Next, seeing how upset I was at the whole thing they decided it would be sweet to bury the little guy
at the base of the apple tree
right next to my window
"There," they said
"Now he can
watch over you while you sleep and keep you safe"
So there I was
a nine year old
with a dead animal lying next to my window watching me while I was supposed to be sleeping
It couldn't have been more than a few weeks before the "visits" began Lying in bed
sleeping...sleeping
but I hear noise
something scratching at my window
I sit up lift the corner of the curtain to see outside
but not wanting to see
Because I know what's there Staring at me through the window a little shriveled skeleton with empty eye sockets and rotting guts
whimpering
and pawing at the glass trying to get in
Shasta I remember the name
mostly because of the soda pop but I don't remember
much else about the dog from when it was alive anyway
No memories of walking together in the park
No memories of him sleeping with me on my bed (with fur)
No happy thoughts of puppy licks
or torn up shoes
or playing fetch
Of all the things I've forgotten from my childhood This
I remember
I suppose there's a lesson in there somewhere, but for the life of me
I don't know what it is
"The Walk"
Crick. Crick. Inhale
A small feather of flame bends and brushes
the end of my Samporna
Paper and dried cloves
expand, glow, crackle
a tiny fireworks display three inches from my lips
I exhale a cloud of steam and smoke mostly steam, I think
that lingers for a few seconds under the eves of the porch before being snatched
by a wicked wind
and torn away into the night
I walk to the edge of the porch
My eyes flick across the dead sky I'll be racing the rain tonight
I zip my jacket up to my chin The leather catches the cold of the frozen wind
and chills my neck
Cap secure, boots buckled
I pull a chunk of smoke and icy air into my boilers
and clunk stiffly
Karloff-style
down the steps
The streetlight projecting from the corner of the block across the road and two houses down barely seems to reach my lawn
but even by this meager light I can see the natural world growing out of control
Thick tufts of grass
and flat, octopus-arms of weeds have invaded the walkway and threaten to crawl up the steps into the house
How long has it been since I mowed the lawn? August, maybe?
I'm terrible with time
Images of man-eating plants
ensnaring and devouring
helpless children on their way to school zip through my head
as I tromp towards the sidewalk and hang a left
This neighborhood never really gets dark Lights from the mills
reflect off the smokestack emissions so even on starless nights
like this one
there's a sick, orange glow
over the rows of sleeping houses
On summer nights
the cover from the maples and willows at the lake
huge, monstrous, ancient things cast shadows
that are as formidable
as darkness ever gets around here
But, with most of the trees bare
I can see the peach-orange lamps that line the lake paths
even from my porch
The air tonight is thick and frosty
so the lamps look like bobbing ghosts peeking between
the swift moving
naked branches
Most nights
I can smell the lake before I see the water
Lake Sacajawea was a slough until a clever city planner rechristened it back in 1921 but no amount of P.R. can alter that smell
Between drags of my clove
I catch frozen whiffs of swamp though I'm so used to the scent it smells like home to me
I've stalked this neighborhood for nearly twenty years Snapshots of memories come in and out of focus as I pass landmarks
I walked this very path with two
no, three
different girlfriends in high school
First serious kiss
under the bridge at the corner of Louisiana and Nichols
The three story house
third from the corner on the right is where my best friend used to live
He broke his ankle
trying to launch from a small wooden ramp over a car on his skateboard
in the alley behind his house
I haven't talked to him in over ten years Every year
the landmarks change slightly a house gets painted
some new monument
or bench
gets added to the path around the lake or a tree cracks
and falls dead by the water
Every year
my snapshots fade just a little more Every year
I'm less and less sure of what really went on here
But in all that time
one thing has stayed the same: All good people
are asleep at this hour
Some foul demons
use the cover of night
to further their own terrible goals but most people
who are up this late just watch television
When I can see through a window what someone is watching at three a.m.
it's a great, cheap thrill
I go for the black and white experience personally
when I can get it
but infomercials seem to be taking over where vampires and aliens used to rule
That might be why I started walking I couldn't find a decent late show to watch anymore
But sleep and I
have never been on the friendliest of terms:
Were it not that I have bad dreams
Lost in exposition
I walk for almost the entire block until I'm bashed back into my body by canine war cries
and the sounds of curved nails frantically slashing
at a tall wooden fence
My old nemesis
the Golden Lab
always, ALWAYS, barks when I walk by
and I always jump
I try to take another drag
off my clove
to settle the adrenaline but the cigarette has died of neglect
At the corner I pause
and look back and forth
along Nichols Blvd
normally one of the busiest streets in town
and see nothing but hazy lamp lights trailing into a misty infinity
I cross the street
squelch a few steps through soggy grass and crunch
finally
onto the lake's gravel path
Crick. Crick. Crick.
I turn my back to the wind My neck stiffens
I cup the end of my cigarette to shield the tiny flame
Crick. Crick. Inhale
I walk about three more paces north towards the Louisiana Street bridge as the first few silver drops begin to burn my cheeks
"Don't Look Now"
1.
Apollo revs the engine
of his fire-breathing chopper He ditched the flaming chariot in the early 70s
after catching Easy Rider at a drive-in theater
double feature
He bursts from the Earth
balancing a mocha-chino with one hand
on his handlebars
And climbs into the sky
To the mortals below
dawn begins to break
2.
My therapist is late this morning He blames traffic
but I'm more inclined to think he's just indifferent to my case
Dr. Morton pours himself
a cup of coffee and sets it on his desk He turns to a file cabinet
rifles through papers
and his coffee cup fades into nothingness
I sigh think about mentioning it but that's why I'm here:
I notice things
"Well Richard
how have you been?" I smile I lie
"Everything's been fine" I say I know how to play the game
He plays back
"No more visions?
How have you been sleeping?"
I can't help but look at the floor just for a moment
Dr. Morton's pencil flies
His moustache twitches Behind him
on the file cabinet
his coffee cup reappears
He won't remember
that he put it on his desk I wish I didn't remember either 3.
Artemis lives next door to me apartment 231 She goes out just before dark
wearing a white leather jacket and black jeans
I wave to her from my bathroom window as her cream colored sports car slips quietly
out of her parking space
And rises into the night sky
"num-num"
Left
Look
Side
Stroke
Ruffled feathers Or was they fur
"Lunar Ploy"
Lunar ploy
A trick to suck our brains Very long straws
from the moon
Brain suck straws
"Fun!"
Fun!
like sticks on fire
and sugar falling from the sky
Fun!
like following a ghostly shadow into the woods at night
or crying for your mommy
when you know she's not gonna come
Fun!
like wet teeth
and hard-edged journalism
Fun!
like you never knew
or wanted to
Fun! Fun! Fun!
"Mountains"
Mountains and mountains
of not-much
to climb over
See what's on the other side If I learned to write
with my left hand
would it tell different kinds of stories than my right hand tells?
Mountains and mountains...
"The Tale of the Woodsman"
A woodsman toppled a tree in the forest.
As it struck the earth a naked infant rolled from its branches, wailing and clenching her tiny fists.
The woodsman scooped up the foundling and rushed home to his wife.
They had no children.
The woman smiled,
cradling the infant,
but the poor child continued to shriek unabated.