Wednesday, January 14, 2009
MY FRIEND DOUGLAS
By Philip Cairns
Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns
Douglas lives in total squalor.
You would not believe your eyes.
Years of dead cockroaches hidden under
Stacks of old Playboy magazines.
You walk into his living room
Tripping over junk scattered on the floor.
Mostly film books, porn mags and movie magazines from the sixties.
The kitchen is a mess of dirty dishes and filth,
Probably left over from many years ago.
How could he live in such a pig sty?
All he needs is a vacuum,
Some boxes and five or six bookshelves
Reaching up to the ceiling.
Then everything would be in order.
Doug just turned 65 but won’t apply for pensions,
Which makes no sense to me,
Because he desperately needs the money.
Yet I’m not allowed to touch his precious Madonna “Sex” book,
Placed regally on the back of his couch,
As if it were a tiara from the Crown Jewels.
Doug bought a TV set over a year ago,
Which sits, unpacked, in his crowded hallway.
Dyed jet black hair,
Major health issues that have never been dealt with.
Self-loathing oozes out of every pore in his body.
A childish, explosive temper that lost him a good friend
Because of an argument over some Elvis Presley trivia.
I think life stopped for him when he was 15,
And Doug never moved forward.
Dirt, decay and minor madness
All rolled up into one major mess,
But he’s so much fun to talk to, on the phone,
Late at night,
When the topic of classic movies and old-time movie stars
Comes up.
He knows the life stories of dead celebrities
That most people have never even heard of.
Douglas is a mass of neuroses and major contradictions.
We even had sex, a few times,
Way back in the good old days,
When we were both young, slim and hopeful,
Not knowing what lurked around the sharp corners
Of aging and such.
I wish I could shake him out of this trap.
Get the rusty motor working, again.
Perhaps he sees me as a dreamer.
My friend frustrates me
But I can’t live his life for him.
Please take us back to a happier time.
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