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Just Another Jim

Poetry



Portrait

Poem Posted March 9, 2007 by James E. Nelson

In chapter 17 of the Alaska Journal I mention Bill, who (to quote the journal) “was by far the scariest guy in town. He was bi-polar and everyone was afraid of him. But even he had a girlfriend of sorts.” I wrote an experimental poem about him that I thought I had previously posted online, but I cannot find it posted anywhere. If it’s a repeat, I apologize. At the time I was reading Galway Kinnell and fell in love with his poem “Oatmeal” although I was a bit unsure why because it is not a structure that I would normally consider poetry. I decided to experiment with the form and decided “Bill” (not his real name) was the perfect subject matter for this rambling and rather unformed type of poetry. Since I just introduced you to Bill in ch. 17, it seemed like a good time to post this 1995 poem.

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PORTRAIT

I saw a shattered boom box scattered on the highway.

I wondered if it was Bill’s, if someone had finally gotten angry enough to take and break it.

I wondered why he sits beside the highway rocking back and forth to the sounds he hears, sometimes with the music on.

I wondered why he chose the postal worker to be his friend.

There were the days when everyone stood in an embarrassed line in the post office as Bill talked to her, taunted her, and shouted things which shouldn't be heard.

There was the day she called the police.

There was the day Bill sat in the turning lane of the main highway through town. Bill, his boom box, and his boxer shorts listening to the music.

Sometimes the fire in his eyes would burn so bright it frightened me.

Could he lash out? Could he hurt his friend at the post office?

Maybe that's what happened to the boom box, the shattered boom box scattered on the highway,

Maybe Bill, finally angry enough, threw it at a passing car, shattering it across the highway.

I saw him walking down the highway, walking five miles out of town, a bag of groceries in his hand, another woman by his side.

They were looking for a ride, but I drove on like everyone else, I didn't stop, I didn't pick them up.

Was that his boom box scattered on the highway?

Where does he live?

Does he still hear the music as he sits and sways in the sun?