The Meaning of Life
by Bill Yarrow
“One must not confuse the meaning
of life with the joy of living,” she said.
Have I been confusing the two? Is that
why I am so unhappy, I wondered. We
were sitting in a café in Tulsa and our
waitress was dressed in burlap. My
heuvos rancheros were getting cold.
I stared at my plate though I had lost
my appetite long ago. She kept talking
to me, something about a fireplace and
Thomas Merton and my own good. Her
voice reminded me of my childhood; it
had the sound of breaking. I like Tulsa.
It is ghostly enough to soothe loneliness.
“Are you listening to me?” she asked softly.
No, not really. “Well, thanks for being so
honest,” she smiled. It was a devastatingly
sweet smile, a smile to die for, a smile to
make the devil weep. I concluded that
the meaning of life is testosterone.
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Author's Note
The poem appears in WRENCH (erbacce-press, 2009)
"I concluded that
the meaning of life is testosterone."
Yes. I've often believed this, but haven't had the nerve to say it since whats'er'name burned her bra ... and that was a long time ago.
Just kidding.
Maybe.
No, yes ...
Bill, I really did like this.
The joy of living . . . a devastatingly / sweet smile, a smile to die for, a smile to / make the devil weep . . . The menaing of life . . .
YES! YES! YES!
Excellent.
Very in the moment with the piece, Bill. Good voice and tone throughout.
Good one, Mr. B.
"One must not confuse the meaning
of life with the joy of living,”
This is a brilliant first line, but even more than that, it is such a deep concept to ponder -- is the meaning of life separate from the joy of living -- is the meaning of life something that happens from interactions with family and lovers, from life events that take place in concert, in some united forum, is the joy of living something that occurs on a purely personal level?
That first line is all I needed to get me thinking deeply, and desirous of a strong glass of whatever has the most alcohol content possible that I own in my home!
And yes, it gave me even more food for thought - women want men understanding and sensitive, but women want men, also, who know how to use their testosterone.
Women can make cry with their lovely smiles, and men cry because they aren't really sure where they stand with the women.
A serious poem requiring enormous thought.
*
Sorry that should read "Women can make men cry with their lovely smiles..."
Very good poem. Very, very good last line! Pardon me; that last line gives me an idea for a story....
I love coming to your wall and choosing a poem -- I am never disappointed. Love the images and mood here, the cold huevos rancheros, his distance (are you listening to me? No, not really)... My favorite lines:
Her
voice reminded me of my childhood; it
had the sound of breaking.
Followed by:
I like Tulsa.
It is ghostly enough to soothe loneliness.
Always a pleasure, Bill. Nice way to end my day.
this remind me a joke about two main man`s questiong during their life /the first is live issue before 40,the second... after/