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Archive for July 1st, 2010

By Dennis Mahagin

Under the willow tree called half
abandoned hope, I’m telling you it
all comes back to me, in the guise
of a breeze, a pill, a snatch

of bygone dialogue from this actor
named Brady Cardia? You bet, a ringer
for Noah Wylie on Blu Ray, yes, yes,
he has been known to play

a variety of hunky First Responder EMT’s
on B-grade DVD’s… You may have caught
his act, indeed, let’s say in fits of ennui, scree
or cluster funk what the 80′s hippies call

Soporifica, when it does not matter
what’s in the tray, when it simply
doesn’t matter what I say, what
the shucks I say, to assuage

malaise, I pop an aspirin, or sip

some ice tea, I’m masturbating to Helen Reddy,
Janis Ian and her acne scars when this pretty boy
via breeze Brady Cardia says to me: “GOD, WE
NEED TO CLEAR AN AIRWAY!” …

But what I’m telling you :
I knew the dude, from back in the old days
of Oxnard; hung over, with amber-tinted klieg
lights and camcorder, we’d hump it right

on down to a freight yard, courting
the Reaper as a gandy dancer, as toothless
tweaker; we tried so flugging hard, to get our
footage over, over there at film school or

med school at UCLA, another sad, sad tale of
Pay to Play, of woe. Yet, this Brady grew up
like a glacier, never getting bitter, only better
looks with age than Tom Cruise on

Angostura, risky, risky

days. Me? I keep sitting under a
tree called Arrythmia, hunting for breezes
to fill aneurysms faster, faster, revising
my master list of fractions, and fictions…Oh,

I feel for my pride via tortoise pulse, it’s a lot
like missing the ocean, down to 28 beats per
minute and that’s racing it, racing it
I am, scribbling participles
for a pericardium to hang on
every other hour or two,
when low tide tugs a tropical zone: “Nice,
nice very nice,” I tell the breeze Brady,
and so much easier to transcribe
with economy and ambrosia, fetching ice
for tea, back at home. Though I’m running
short on fine summers’ days, I’ll sure make
a mixtape, soon enough, containing all

my “Brady Sayings” such as:

We’ve got your BP on CD-
Rom, it’s perfect, Gordon
so long…

or:

Fuckit, all we’re just
ticking time bombs.

I’m telling you, I’m telling
you because it doesn’t get
much easier than a Brady via
breeze and willow; capisce?

Soak it up, is what I say…

Though I never played a Cardia
doc on T.V., I could really, really
stand a run for some
medicine.

Just one
or two more Coumadin?
C’mon… We can wash
it all down with this ice

tea.

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