The Gazeebo

A Poet's Place

The Gazeebo: Beating Blankets with Brooms

Hey again!

I had an interesting day today – didn’t post this on the correct day, sadly, but it is here and ready for you to read 🙂  First of all, slept in a bit and debated a load about a link I posted to my Facebook about Alabama’s new illegal immigration law, which is extremely similar to Arizona’s SB 1070.  I personally agree with both laws, but found out a couple of my friends are openly against them due to these laws “sounding racist” and “that states shouldn’t be bugging  in Fed jobs.”  Not going to get back into any of that, I’m tired of trying over and over to convince people of what I’m saying about that when it isn’t getting anywhere.

If you were wondering about this post’s title, my sister and I had to clean our back patio, which has two dog blankets on them.  You see, our yard is basically just dirt with a trampoline, gazebo, shed, and 2 pine trees.. and we have 3 dogs.  So, as you can probably imagine, both of these blankets get extremely thick with dirt and dust and the like.  In order to take care of them we have to beat them while they’re hanging from the trampoline (it avoids damage to the gazebo if we were to hang it there) with sticks (though one is a broken broom stick.. I accidentally broke the broom part of it once during another blanket beating occurrence) lol.

Other than that, my day was pretty uneventful.. my dad was off of work today and my sister didn’t have her musical rehearsal today (she’s Mabel in Pirates of Penzance) so my dad decided to spend the day relaxing and playing his video game with my sister.  My sister and I also played other games, but it was all in all a VERY lazy day lol.

Oh, another thing – I saw Fargo tonight with the family.  Interesting movie, but so very good; I highly suggest seeing it if  you don’t have a major problem with blood – there are a few scenes with it lol.

Alright after all of that, I believe it is now time for the poem 🙂  This one I wrote for the heck of it one night and revised it since then, though I believe it’s not quite done – especially the ending.  I wanted to “write my own death” in a way, but not quite that literal.. I wanted to write a poem in the point of view of the person dying and through his eyes and memories as he’s taking that last breath.  The way I did it may have been a little cliché  due to the fact it’s a car crash, but I felt I twisted it enough to work.. I guess I’ll just see what you think 🙂  (By the way, the little “–” is to show that it’s a new stanza which WordPress doesn’t allow an extra space between to show that.


I lay there,

Suddenly exhausted.

We had just finished

and your head lay on my chest,

Sweat covered our brows.

You were holding on, as if

Worried it’d go away –

The one reason you were there,

The one reason why this

Kept happening.


But, it wasn’t sweat that

Lay on my brow –

It was much thicker,

And it came with a pain

As my head pulsed.

You weren’t lying next to

me – you couldn’t be here,

you have been gone for

years, your life taken away

by the same man you

ran away with – he never liked

me, especially after that night.

But, I don’t know who this

is, I don’t know anything –


Just the memories of you

The late nights filled with

sounds of breathing, the feel

of your skin – smooth, the

color of your hair – strawberry blonde,

with lines of black,

the taste of your lips

as we kissed, the soft depth

of where I had been the

first to explore – you were my first

as well, and damn did

it feel good, after

years of waiting for

the perfect one – the perfect

time to let myself go,

to allow someone else to

take control of my body.


No, someone else lay beside

me – their head on my chest,

not moving except for the

occasional shudder as the wind

picked up.


I remembered driving down

the highway, New Mexico

in my little pickup, silver –


Like your brother’s Comaro

that you often borrowed to meet

me on that little hilltop outside

of town – we would often lay on

the hood, looking up at the stars

holding each other and talking

about what lay ahead –

I was off to college and you

were working on getting

your GED.

We both knew, but

couldn’t accept it – the fact

that we’d have to say goodbye.


A little car had pulled out of

nowhere and I swerved to try

and avoid it – but it had

been too late and I slammed

into it, mixing its black with

the shine of my truck.

We rolled off the highway,

toward a small road, from what

I remember.

Now, as I lay there with her

head on my chest, heavy against

my sternum, and a pain in my

head, I began to wonder who

she was – her hair was

black, but the rest of

her was unknown lying

there – I can hear broken English

as people begin chattering and

running about.  I can feel the warm

blood pouring out from above

my eyes – blinding me with

a red shade as I thought of

you once more –


That night had been our

last, as he found us in your

bed – I had come to visit, you

were across the country

in the city where he worked as a

stock broker on Wall Street –

he looked like he was going to explode

as his face began to turn

three different shades of red,

I almost felt bad for him – almost,

but he left your apartment,

I left too, an hour later,

you were angry that we had

been caught, but I believed it was more

for when I left, you said nothing

and a year later, when I read

your obituary

alongside his,

I wondered why you never called,

why I never called.


Now I had no one to call,

holding my cell phone in my bloody hand

I looked at the head on

my chest, her black hair soaked red

after being thrown,

after we had both been thrown

from our separate cars,

how she had crawled over

and stopped breathing after

choking on her tongue she had

bit – she had tried to tell me,

I couldn’t understand, couldn’t see

or barely stay awake

I’m sorry.


Damn, the end is red, full

blinding red, your eyelids

too heavy to keep open so you

close them, too tired to worry

about next.


Goodbye, such a simple concept

but worth everything in the

world, no matter the hurt involved.

© Jesse McDowell Lungren


June 11, 2011 - Posted by | Your Lungren Originals | , , ,

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: