Anaesthesiology

   

    Counting back, 100, 99, 98,
    My stepfather over-ruled my
    Mother and bought me a Monarch
    Bike; so at 12 I could ride for
    The first time free of
    Her oversight where counting
    Forward was not an option.

    Two years later he
    Encouraged a philosophy
    Student and fellow church
    Member to talk me
    Into a better view of the world.
    Instead I told him the
    Multitudes of my thinking.

    Ninety-five, ninety-four –
    I woke hearing an antagonist
    Daring me to apply this furious
    Energy to mankind’s good.
    So remembering only that from
    My nightmare, I took
    Up the challenge

    Of his presuppositions.  I made
    A point to stop there and
    Wait.  Let whoever keeps
    Track go ahead.  I’m weary
    Of the frenetic nights of turmoil --
    Rewriting the scripts of every
    Remembered word and deed

    As though I’d have a chance
    In another life to do it
    Right, or the courage
    To step out in the sureness
    Of a cadence-count
    Drill instructor who
    Has no double mind.

    For this little while
    My mind still reeks of
    Multivariate forces forming
    Webs too bedraggled
    To break apart and form a simple
    Life; so if that’s all there is it will
    End in peace.  If not, then war