Long after I left for work
each morning, my housemates
explored groovier, more imaginative
paths. They found me stiff,
uptight. I chafed
as my records were
mishandled, my stereo never
turned off.
When my girlfriend’s old
lover came calling,
I reacted blindly, with swift
passivity.
I stuffed her sneakers into
the fridge.
This desperate act resulted
in my further
ostracism.
Bantry Bay, Bainbridge Island, 1973
(No. 91 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
It was a hard time and place, and I can still feel the censure. I’ve come to see that being the first of this motley crew to have a regular job was actually path breaking.
I never really knew why I put the lady’s shoes into the refrigerator. Talk about passive aggressive! However, some good therapy and 20 years of subsequent marriage to this person (now my good friend and former wife) resulted in the insight/title of this ditty.
(Numeric reference to Han-shan’s poem reflects the order of presentation in Burton Watson’s translation, presented as Cold Mountain, Columbia University Press, 1970.)
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