806
I was calling the dice as they rolled
predicting the traffic lights
weaving the lines into my own tapestry
everything was perfect
I saw the sun rise
but not before
fending off a couple of creeps
trying to draw me into their trailer
I didn't know we'd have visitors
six treeplanting grrrls, straight from the bush.
None of this is
806.
806 starts after
after the sunrise drive
over the hills and far away
coming down again
back to town, again
taking Dad's Pinto to the corral
806, the Acacia Towers
a woman in faded flowerprint housedress
mops water from the front steps
806, she says, not a question,
see my husband inside.
I better take you up, the manager says
and in the elevator:
This ain't a white man's job I got here
one time this guy, a mortician,
nobody ever visited him
had a cancer in his gut
sitting in his E-Z Boy chair
pops a main vein
just opens his mouth and spews
all his blood comes out
August, he had his windows open
coupla days later, neighbours complain, a funny noise
the buzzing of flies
he's in his chair, white as a ghost, mouth open
the flies...
took three months before I could rent that unit.
To a high gaze
806 is pristine
the dining table set
books, knick-knacks in regimented rows
pad and pen perfectly aligned beside the phone
but lower the eyes
and chaos writhes
an inch of water on the floor.
He plugged all the drains, the manager says
and turned on all the taps, hot and cold.
In the bathroom
broken glass jagging up
blood swirling through it.
Found him in there, the manager says
in just a pajama top, splashing and playing
like a little kid. Cut his butt all to shreds
maybe he'da bled to death too, who knows.
It was the middle of the night
nobody knew nothing, until the water
started coming through the electric sockets below,
shorting things out. A wonder nobody's electrocuted.
Slosh through to the bedroom,
in the closet all Dad's suits neatly on hangers
but the pockets bulge, filled with empty pill bottles.
Beside the bed,
a new one, issued yesterday
one hundred phenobarbital, almost empty.
Hellava mess, the manager says, somebody'll
hafta pay, we'll be in touch.
In the lobby,
as we walk to the door,
the carpet squishes up water from 806.
Robert Douglas Hickey
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