Time
by Mark Waldrop
Down in the basement, as far away from the Arizona sun
As we could get, we were led by a man that loved the word
Motherfucker. He said this was where we belonged.
In the basement.
He told us science fiction had rules:
1. Don't read anything before the year you were born.
2. Time is a motherfucker.
He couldn't stand still and
He left his reading glasses on around his neck.
He'd swoop them up off his chest the way a gunfighter
Quick draws a revolver — to fire some paragraph right through us.
That goes for my stuff too, he said. Don't go reading my books
Until you've finished Bradbury and Wells.
Time, he'd say, is a motherfucker. He told us to put our hands on the flat
Cool surface of the desks, to touch them so we knew they were real.
Some of us did, some just watched him, shuffling
Birkenstock sandals, playing with curls of hair.
He stopped moving to tell us this one thing.
This is the past, he said. You don't know it yet but this moment is over.
Time is a motherfucker that way.
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Author's Note
This poem was published in the online literary collection Like Birds Lit in May of 2010.
Other stories by Mark Waldrop
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I like this little story. The man sounds like such an eccentric mentor of a person. I wish I knew him in real life, almost.
One has to live in the minute not the moment, Mark, cause as he said, its gone, its over!
Good one.
Fav
Great portrait you create here of this odd character.
Terrific opening lines. It is a fascinating portrait, and it makes me want to know more.
This is great. Motherfucking great. Can I say that here? Well I did already, and that moment's over. But this character is gonna stay with me. Fav indeed!
Such a fantastic character and setting. And message. The whole thing. I can just see this (in my scene Dennis Hopper is playing the role of "a man that loved the word Motherfucker" :)