Nostalgia for the 20th Century

From the Flying J Restroom, Perrysburg, Ohio

Look at this, will you?
It’s a whole damn world afraid of touch

 Oh, now, don’t get all nervous. It’s entirely possible for people to talk—and to shake hands or slap backs or even hug—without all this anxiety. And sure as hell no one’s been too hurt by a little conversation. 

 And I get it. The world’s on fire and we’re on the brink of ruin and we might be able to do something about it if only we weren’t so afraid of everyone. Look at this:

For my sanitized convenience
this Sloan and Dyson trinity
          Faucet, Soap, and Holy Airblade

Wisdom of our moment
We murder from afar
game through graphics cards
love by appointment
          —separation by SurveyMonkey 

Yet the world is now aflame
our thin skies laden and whisperless
splintered nations, riven truths 
Democracy takes flight

This you would pronounce
across Meta and Bytedance platforms 
          yet not dare speak to me
          while in sublime cyclonic grace?

I jest with you, of course
Humor makes friends fast
and our world has not changed so much
that our visit here will harm it more

At your age the world popped Disco Biscuits
Bumped and Bus Stopped 
shared its sofas
necked in Chevelles
fought in foreign bogs 
died in piles under fan palms
          never limp or impotent

Now, hold on, friend. This isn’t some old guy just waxing wistful. If you’re not gonna tell me about the end of the world, I can tell you why you shouldn’t.  But

All that means nothing 
but that skin is skin, sweat is sweat
and blood and jizz both spread too easy

Now wait. You want me to tell you we had it better? Easier? Okay, then. But

While those high school kids met Fifty-cals and Orange to the thorax
I played with KungFu grip GI Joe dolls;
I read about Mothman and watched Sunday night Disney
while grocery shelves emptied, gas caps added locks, and houses went cold

Reagan woke me to Medicare scare and Commies that hated freedom
Bush conjured policy with cocaine:
I renounced Marley for Jackson, Prince for Whitney
power-dressed for patriotism
Lisa Lisa in loyalty
Live Aids and Farm Aids but “Don’t say AIDS.”
          Am I a fool? At least my friends think so

No one taught us ironyA "deflection of expectation," where words, situation, or pe... More in school

I was necking after Neil Diamond “America” concerts
while Sudan, Ethiopia, Afghanistan, Rwanda, Tiananmen 
I was unwinding to Enya and Yanni
while S&Ls, crack, nukes, and 976 numbers
while “satanists,” Ruby Ridge, and Rodney
filthy decades that only Seattle finally owned up to

By the way, I was white—
What point to talk to me?

The years lay across my eyes, 
clay ankle bracelets while Fonda Olivia-Newton-John’ed
LayZBoy massages while Dr. Ruth and Dr. Leo
          Neil and friends warned us, saw where this was headed
          Don’t wake me up too soon

‘Teh. I’m the one
my mortgages in clay
memories in Styx 
American Muse in rubber cement 
rubber-gripping my cock

Now, don’t worry. You’re safe from me. Hasn’t worked for years. But you can see why you have no business asking or telling me anything. I’m why you’re here, 

Lamenting only what we dare
caught in an asphyxiating self-grip
drawing even further in
surrendering . . .

But grieving the loss of normal?
Decrying the close of history?
Craving forgotten virtue?
Relying on some renewal?

This is a holy space
          Have you heard the news?
              Privacy laws loosened in privies
                  to protect from prostitutes and queers
          in Ohio as pilot program
          according to Press.ru
          Cameras in the pale lights
Reverence expected with evacuation

We meet in covenant but not kinship
Ruth and Leo entombed in the tiles here
bones of my 20th Century
effluvium of discharge and urinal cakes
cause of the teeming masses
laden and whisperless
your reverence sound

I’m not your ally.