Night Noises Read online

  NIGHT NOISES

  by

  Richard F. Yates

  Copyright © 2010 by Richard F. Yates

  The following poems were previously published in other places, sometimes in slightly modified form:

  “Dawn” appeared originally in Clockwise Cat

  “Don’t Look Now” appeared originally in Words-Myth

  “Dream, 26 Feb. 2008” and “num-num” appeared originally in Counterexample Poetics “Fun!,” “Monstrous,” “Our Clawses Intersect,” “Pretty Little Things,” “The Planter Box,” and “Wandering at Night” appeared originally in Mad Swirl

  “Hotel” and “Night Noises” appeared originally in The Calliope Nerve

  “Its Pusht” appeared originally in Window Teaser Zine

  “Lighthouses” appeared originally in The Salmon Creek Journal

  “Monster Duck, Glowing Bull, and One Eyed Frog” appeared originally in Word Slaw

  “The Tale of the Woodsman” appeared originally in Flash Your Tale Zine

  “Zombie Fly” appeared originally in Word Riot

  CONTENTS 1. Dawn 5

  2. The Damned Dog 6

  3. The Walk 13

  4.Don’t Look Now 19

  5. num-num 22

  6. Lunar Ploy 23

  7. Fun! 24

  8. Mountains 25

  9. The Tale of the Woodsman 26

  10. Wandering at Night 27

  11. Up the Stairs 29

  12. Dream, 26 Feb. 2008 31

  13. Lighthouses 34

  14. Snow Driving 35

  15. Monster Duck, Glowing Bull, and One Eyed Frog 37

  16. Pretty Little Things 39

  17. Its Pusht 41

  18. Night Noises 43

  19. Identity Politics 48

  20. Zombie Fly 53

  21. Our Clawses Intersect 54

  22. My Friends 55

  23. Monstrous 56

  24.Sleep? What’s That? 57

  25. The Planter Box 65

  26. Memory Problem 70

  27. Hotel 72

  "Dawn"

  I might wear a Dracula cape

  to the wedding

  And make certain I leave the reception before dawn

  "The Damned Dog"

  When I was about nine years old

  my mom brought home a dog It was a poodle

  which isn't that cool

  but having a poodle is better than not having a pet when you're nine

  Back then my mom, my two brothers, and I

  lived in a rather ghetto-esque part of town on a dead end street

  abutting an oily slough

  On one side of us lived a grouchy old religious couple who had pissed us off

  when we first moved into the area

  I can't remember what they did

  but for the next two years

  we bombed their house with eggs

  at least once a month

  On the other side of us

  was a vacant lot

  a rarity in our area

  where some previous owner

  had planted a few apple trees

  and a cherry tree or two

  Just past this miniature orchard

  was our other neighbor

  a crazy old guy

  probably a veteran

  but from what I couldn't tell you who liked to get liquored up and scream obscenities from his porch at anyone willing to listen

  We liked this guy

  called him Jim

  although I don't recall if that was his real name or not and even though we liked him

  we still tossed a rock

  through his window

  every once in a while

  in the hopes of getting him rolling

  on a good yell

  especially if he'd been quiet for too long

  Back to the stupid dog: Like I said, he was a poodle

  Mom must have liked poodles

  because she always seemed to be bringing those home We named this one Shasta

  I don't remember why

  Looking back on this part of my childhood now I don't think we had that dog for very long although he was destined to become one of my most lasting childhood memories

  I think he was mostly an "inside" pet

  although I don't actually have any memories left of the dog being inside the house

  What I do remember is taking him outside

  once

  and hooking his collar

  to this weak little chain

  that was supposed to keep him from running away

  Apparently the chain broke

  or I didn't fasten it properly whatever the cause

  the damn dog got loose

  and bolted straight into the street and directly under the back wheel of a passing Station Wagon

  I can still see the entire thing:

  Him running, bee-line

  straight into the road

  The car rolling past

  Hearing him scream his little doggie yelp as the tire rolls directly over his body

  Then this twisted, flopping, screeching creature half rolls, half crawls

  its way under our little red Datsun and throws up

  blood and chunks of hot-dog

  The Station Wagon stopped

  I turned and dashed into the house and yelled

  "Shasta's been run over by a car!" My mom thought I'd said

  that one of my brothers had been hit a particularly horrifying thought

  because I had been run over

  when I was four

  broken collar bone, punctured lung two months in the hospital

  deep emotional damage for everyone but I lived

  and Mom wasn't sure

  her luck was going to hold out

  if another kid got crunched

  But it wasn't one of her kids just the stupid dog

  I was crying

  She was relieved Like everyone else in the neighborhood the guy who hit our dog was old like "almost ready to die" old to my young eyes

  and he was standing there saying how sorry he was

  and I believed him

  My mom's boyfriend at that time

  or maybe it was my aunt's boyfriend

  I can't remember which

  (we had a whole string of relatives

  who came to live with us at that house

  at one time or another

  and mom went through at least three or four boyfriends so with all of these bodies coming and going I can't keep the "who"s or "when"s

  straight anymore)

  Anyway someone came out of the house

  and tried to get a look at the dog

  who was still alive and whimpering

  under the car

  I've noticed

  since my younger days that the world has changed when it comes to pets

  Most animals we got when I was a kid came from ads in the paper with titles like

  "Free to Good Home!"

  We got our pets cheap

  we fed them cheap food

  lots of leftovers from dinner we played with them for a while they'd die

  for one reason or another and we'd get a new one

  In that world

  where pets were basically disposable it was decided

  that the dog wasn't going to make it and that it would be more humane to put it out of it's misery

  I cried more I don't remember who carried out the sentence but they undoubtedly saw them self as angel of mercy

  Next, seeing how upset I was at the whole thing they decided it would be sweet to bury the little guy

  at the base of the apple tree

  right next to my window

  "There," they said

  "Now he can
watch over you while you sleep and keep you safe"

  So there I was

  a nine year old

  with a dead animal lying next to my window watching me while I was supposed to be sleeping

  It couldn't have been more than a few weeks before the "visits" began Lying in bed

  sleeping...sleeping

  but I hear noise

  something scratching at my window

  I sit up lift the corner of the curtain to see outside

  but not wanting to see

  Because I know what's there Staring at me through the window a little shriveled skeleton with empty eye sockets and rotting guts

  whimpering

  and pawing at the glass trying to get in

  Shasta I remember the name

  mostly because of the soda pop but I don't remember

  much else about the dog from when it was alive anyway

  No memories of walking together in the park

  No memories of him sleeping with me on my bed (with fur)

  No happy thoughts of puppy licks

  or torn up shoes

  or playing fetch

  Of all the things I've forgotten from my childhood This

  I remember

  I suppose there's a lesson in there somewhere, but for the life of me

  I don't know what it is

  "The Walk"

  Crick. Crick. Inhale

  A small feather of flame bends and brushes

  the end of my Samporna

  Paper and dried cloves

  expand, glow, crackle

  a tiny fireworks display three inches from my lips

  I exhale a cloud of steam and smoke mostly steam, I think

  that lingers for a few seconds under the eves of the porch before being snatched

  by a wicked wind

  and torn away into the night

  I walk to the edge of the porch

  My eyes flick across the dead sky I'll be racing the rain tonight

  I zip my jacket up to my chin The leather catches the cold of the frozen wind

  and chills my neck

  Cap secure, boots buckled

  I pull a chunk of smoke and icy air into my boilers

  and clunk stiffly

  Karloff-style

  down the steps

  The streetlight projecting from the corner of the block across the road and two houses down barely seems to reach my lawn

  but even by this meager light I can see the natural world growing out of control

  Thick tufts of grass

  and flat, octopus-arms of weeds have invaded the walkway and threaten to crawl up the steps into the house

  How long has it been since I mowed the lawn? August, maybe?

  I'm terrible with time

  Images of man-eating plants

  ensnaring and devouring

  helpless children on their way to school zip through my head

  as I tromp towards the sidewalk and hang a left

  This neighborhood never really gets dark Lights from the mills

  reflect off the smokestack emissions so even on starless nights

  like this one

  there's a sick, orange glow

  over the rows of sleeping houses

  On summer nights

  the cover from the maples and willows at the lake

  huge, monstrous, ancient things cast shadows

  that are as formidable

  as darkness ever gets around here

  But, with most of the trees bare

  I can see the peach-orange lamps that line the lake paths

  even from my porch

  The air tonight is thick and frosty

  so the lamps look like bobbing ghosts peeking between

  the swift moving

  naked branches

  Most nights

  I can smell the lake before I see the water

  Lake Sacajawea was a slough until a clever city planner rechristened it back in 1921 but no amount of P.R. can alter that smell

  Between drags of my clove

  I catch frozen whiffs of swamp though I'm so used to the scent it smells like home to me

  I've stalked this neighborhood for nearly twenty years Snapshots of memories come in and out of focus as I pass landmarks

  I walked this very path with two

  no, three

  different girlfriends in high school

  First serious kiss

  under the bridge at the corner of Louisiana and Nichols

  The three story house

  third from the corner on the right is where my best friend used to live

  He broke his ankle

  trying to launch from a small wooden ramp over a car on his skateboard

  in the alley behind his house

  I haven't talked to him in over ten years Every year

  the landmarks change slightly a house gets painted

  some new monument

  or bench

  gets added to the path around the lake or a tree cracks

  and falls dead by the water

  Every year

  my snapshots fade just a little more Every year

  I'm less and less sure of what really went on here

  But in all that time

  one thing has stayed the same: All good people

  are asleep at this hour

  Some foul demons

  use the cover of night

  to further their own terrible goals but most people

  who are up this late just watch television

  When I can see through a window what someone is watching at three a.m.

  it's a great, cheap thrill

  I go for the black and white experience personally

  when I can get it

  but infomercials seem to be taking over where vampires and aliens used to rule

  That might be why I started walking I couldn't find a decent late show to watch anymore

  But sleep and I

  have never been on the friendliest of terms:

  Were it not that I have bad dreams

  Lost in exposition

  I walk for almost the entire block until I'm bashed back into my body by canine war cries

  and the sounds of curved nails frantically slashing

  at a tall wooden fence

  My old nemesis

  the Golden Lab

  always, ALWAYS, barks when I walk by

  and I always jump

  I try to take another drag

  off my clove

  to settle the adrenaline but the cigarette has died of neglect

  At the corner I pause

  and look back and forth

  along Nichols Blvd

  normally one of the busiest streets in town

  and see nothing but hazy lamp lights trailing into a misty infinity

  I cross the street

  squelch a few steps through soggy grass and crunch

  finally

  onto the lake's gravel path

  Crick. Crick. Crick.

  I turn my back to the wind My neck stiffens

  I cup the end of my cigarette to shield the tiny flame

  Crick. Crick. Inhale

  I walk about three more paces north towards the Louisiana Street bridge as the first few silver drops begin to burn my cheeks

  "Don't Look Now"

  1.

  Apollo revs the engine

  of his fire-breathing chopper He ditched the flaming chariot in the early 70s

  after catching Easy Rider at a drive-in theater

  double feature

  He bursts from the Earth

  balancing a mocha-chino with one hand

  on his handlebars

  And climbs into the sky

  To the mortals below

  dawn begins to break

  2.

  My therapist is late this morning He blames traffic

  but I'm more inclined to think he's just indifferent to my case

  Dr. Morton pours himself
a cup of coffee and sets it on his desk He turns to a file cabinet

  rifles through papers

  and his coffee cup fades into nothingness

  I sigh think about mentioning it but that's why I'm here:

  I notice things

  "Well Richard

  how have you been?" I smile I lie

  "Everything's been fine" I say I know how to play the game

  He plays back

  "No more visions?

  How have you been sleeping?"

  I can't help but look at the floor just for a moment

  Dr. Morton's pencil flies

  His moustache twitches Behind him

  on the file cabinet

  his coffee cup reappears

  He won't remember

  that he put it on his desk I wish I didn't remember either 3.

  Artemis lives next door to me apartment 231 She goes out just before dark

  wearing a white leather jacket and black jeans

  I wave to her from my bathroom window as her cream colored sports car slips quietly

  out of her parking space

  And rises into the night sky

  "num-num"

  Left

  Look

  Side

  Stroke

  Ruffled feathers Or was they fur

  "Lunar Ploy"

  Lunar ploy

  A trick to suck our brains Very long straws

  from the moon

  Brain suck straws

  "Fun!"

  Fun!

  like sticks on fire

  and sugar falling from the sky

  Fun!

  like following a ghostly shadow into the woods at night

  or crying for your mommy

  when you know she's not gonna come

  Fun!

  like wet teeth

  and hard-edged journalism

  Fun!

  like you never knew

  or wanted to

  Fun! Fun! Fun!

  "Mountains"

  Mountains and mountains

  of not-much

  to climb over

  See what's on the other side If I learned to write

  with my left hand

  would it tell different kinds of stories than my right hand tells?

  Mountains and mountains...

  "The Tale of the Woodsman"

  A woodsman toppled a tree in the forest.

  As it struck the earth a naked infant rolled from its branches, wailing and clenching her tiny fists.

  The woodsman scooped up the foundling and rushed home to his wife.

  They had no children.

  The woman smiled,

  cradling the infant,

  but the poor child continued to shriek unabated.