Goodreads
del.icio.us
She sits at the computer typing, speaking softly the words she is
crafting, entering, delivering unto the world:
"Those who misrepresent the name of Jesus shall burn," but
what's this? Within the fiery sibilance are
phrases like, "You stupid whore," and "you fucking bitch," and
"Die like a stuck pig squealing." How
intriguing! This female missionary tall and thin hunched
over the keyboard is nearly drooling with
self-importance. Her shining eyes shift my way—I'm
using the computer next to hers—and regard
me, not so much with suspicion, but with a question poised:
Is he one of them? I am not, I think. I
am not one of them. And she continues, typing: "When
you misrepresent the name of Jesus," but a
librarian steps up, says that another patron is waiting to
use the computer. "You're only allowed
one session if people are waiting," the librarian says, and says,
"You're on your third session, Mary." "Leave
me alone, don't bother me, I'm busy," the Jesus woman says,
but the librarian is waiting. "I'm afraid that's all
for today, Mary," she says, and the Jesus woman says, "You
know what? You're a filthy-minded bitch. Why
don't you go back behind the desk where you belong and leave
me to do my important work?" The librarian says,
"That's all for today, Mary. Now please leave the library," and
Jesus Woman stands, tall and thin, wearing a fine
leather trench coat. "I'm going to file a complain against
you," Jesus Woman says. The librarian: "Feel
free." Jesus Woman points a finger at her, and another
long finger at the other librarian sitting
behind the circulation desk. "You're both wearing red," she
says. "You're both filthy-minded bitches.
When you get old you're going to be ugly. Look at me.
I'm forty-nine and I'm beautiful because I'm
pure of heart. You filthy-minded whores, all you know
how to do is cause trouble for the good people
of the world." The librarian—it's true, she and the other
librarian are both wearing red—goes back
behind the desk, and I wonder, is she going to pull up
a shotgun like they do in saloons? No, of
course not, but once Jesus Woman leaves, off to find
the office for filing complaints, I look over
at the ladies in red and say, "I'm sorry," and I think,
why did I apologize? Is it because
I'm one of them? Surely I must be one of them.
You learn a lot about a man, Jimmy said of Gerald
When you run against him, Gerald dead a few days now
But Jimmy no longer smiles like the peanuts that he farmed
In view of Gerald's coffin, that box with Gerald in it
Jimmy did not deliver the dirt on the man he replaced, the man
He learned "a lot about"; but of Gerald Jimmy said
Nothing memorable; just that when you run against a man
You learn to refer to him as your "distinguished opponent."
But Jimmy no longer smiles like the peanuts that he farmed
I've seen those peanuts that Jimmy farmed, miles of rows of
Green peanuts in the Georgia fields, around Jimmy's whitewashed
Church cracked shells; "You learn a lot about a man," Jimmy said
When I was little, when Jimmy ran, I was in a parade for the man
Art students had driven to Plains from Tallahassee; there was a muscle
Man, and me, a boy clown; Jimmy smiled like the peanuts that he farmed
I always told people that I shook Jimmy's hand, but that's a lie
I did see him though, the huge teeth, and just now I saw Jimmy
On TV; "You learn a lot about a man," Jimmy said of Gerald
But Jimmy no longer smiled like the peanuts that he farmed
John Oliver Hodges lives in Oxford, Mississippi, where he attends Ole Miss and teaches writing. He enjoys walks in the evenings and long bicycle rides and hikes and mountain sojourns and midnight strolls through graveyards. An aristocrat by birth, he lives a life of constant luxury. Pale ale and dumpster diving are of particular interest. His poems have appeared in Rattle and nth position, and are soon to appear in Thieves Jargon and Literary Chaos Magazine. He can be contacted at olivebowl@hotmail.com, and his photo-stories can be viewed at Pindeldyboz.