engagement day

8/19/2019 Engagement Day

1/16

ENGAGEMENT DAY:

DOMESTIC POEMS

THE DIGITAL EDITION

TERRY McCARTY


2/16

CAFETERIA

I’m sitting by myselfin an almost empty company cafeteria.

I’m eating a sandwichwhich consists of white turkey meat,mustard, one tomato and one leaf of lettuceon two slices of wheat bread.My beverage is a diet cola.My dessert is a cup of plain yogurt.

My meal break lasts only thirty minutes. Almost ten minutes are gone.In those ten minutes,

I left my cubicle,used the restroom,took the elevator to the cafeteria on the 18th floor,waited for the food service employeeto prepare my sandwichand waited behind two other peoplebefore I was able to pay the cashier.

Now I have only twenty minutesto finish my meal,use the restroomand return to my cubicle on time.

While finishing my sandwich,I read a brochure from a companywhich specializes in sellingtheater, concert and amusement park ticketsat a discount to corporate employees.

I look at the events on sale:Cirque du Soleil,The Lord of the Rings laser show,Harry Potter On Ice.


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Even with the discounts,the tickets are still expensive.My family and I will have to settlefor the discount movie tickets-

although they can’t be useduntil the third week of the movie’s run.

As I consume my soda and yogurt,I look out the window at the shopperswalking away from a nearby outdoor mall.One day, I’d like to come downtownan hour early and do some shopping before work.

Unfortunately, I’m not young anymore.

I’m a husband and a father.Society expects me to be a responsible adult.

I don’t feel all that responsible, though.Why am I working six days a weekfor two weeks out of every month?Why am I not at home helpingmy kids with their homework?Why am I not driving my son

to his soccer matches?

The answer is simple:money.Two Saturdays a monthmeans plenty of overtime pay,which-on top of my regular salary-provides a financial cushionin case of emergenciesor other unexpected events.

Still, I can’t help but realizethat all the money in the worldis no substitute for time spentbeing a good parent.


4/16

Two Saturdays a monthof overtime work-no matter how lucrative-eventually add up to

a lot of wasted time.

I look at my watch;there’s only five minutes left.I dump the remainder of my dinner into the nearest trash receptacleand hurry for the elevator.

As I enter the elevator,an unwanted memory

appears in my head.When I was in college,I took a photography course.I received an “A”.I briefly thought about a career in photojournalism.Everyone-my parents, my college counselor,my then-girlfriend-said

“DON’T DO IT!Finish your Business major-there’s more money in it.One day, you’ll thank us for this advice.”

Upon returning to my cubicle,I imagine the life I could have livedif only I had listened to myself all those years ago.


5/16

SEX IN NEW MEXICO

For over an hour,we could hear the cover band

in the motel courtyard next door playing a mixture of Mariachi musicand Billy Joel favorites.

Then, the music faded awayas we put on our helmetsand other protective gear and climbed on a bicycle-built-for-two-proceeding to ride all around our small suite.

We pedaled hard and fast untilwe collapsed on the bedin a state of pleasant exhaustion.

As we lay in bed,we talked about bicycling.My Significant Other told meit’s a much better ridewhen you keep your hands off the handlebars.

Something to look forward to trying, I thoughtto myself as the cover band next door launched into a version of KEEPING THE FAITH.


6/16

UNDER THE FLIGHT PATH

It’s 2:00 p.m. An airplane flies over our house.

Our kitten squeals in terror.She jumps off the living room sofa,hides under the coffee tableand looks up at me with eyes that say,“Make the noise go away!”

Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do.

A year ago,a realtor sold me this house

for what seemed to be a bargain price.I was elated.The house was old,but it was in good condition.The neighbors were,for the most part,quite friendly.

Then, one day,

I learned why the housewas sold at a bargain.

The Van Nuys Airportdecided to throw open its armsto movie stars and other VIPseager to fly their private planeswhenever they pleasedrather than suffer the inconvenienceof waiting for takeoff

from a large airportsuch as Los Angeles International.

As a result,airplanes fly over our house


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at all hours of the day and night.I installed noise-resistant glasswherever I could-to little avail.I phoned the realtor

and asked him,in a none-too-pleasant voice,why I wasn’t informedthat my neighborhood was chosenas a flight path for the rich and famous.He muttered something aboutnot being obligated to do so,then he hung up.

It’s 2:05 p.m.

Our kitten is back on the sofa.Everything is peaceful again.If I’m lucky,a plane won’t fly over our neighborhoodfor another fifteen minutes or so.These days, I’m grateful for small pleasures.


8/16

WAITING

It’s 1:00 p.m. on Saturday.I’ve been up since 9:00 a.m.

I ate breakfast.I took a shower.I went to the market.I washed a load of laundry.

I look at your bedroom door.It remains closed.You’re still asleep-and I don’t know what to do.

I can’t bear to see you suffer.It hurts me when you constantly allowtemporary setbacks to turn intothe type of depressionthat makes you unable to think,unable to move,unable to accomplish anything.

When you’re in this state of sadness,

I’m unable to do anything right.If I try to cheer you up,you respond with verbal tirades.If I say nothing,you begin to cry andaccuse me of abandoning youin your time of need.

As a result,I feel like giving up.

It’s your life, I tell myself.If you want my help,you’ll ask me.Otherwise, I’ll just stayout of your way


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until your depression liftsand you’re able to face the world again.

It’s 1:15 p.m.

I turn on the living room TV,hoping to find a few momentsof escape from reality.

I glance at a photographthat hangs on our living room wall.It was taken a few years agowhen we vacationed at Harrah’s Lake Tahoe.In the photograph, we smile; you hold my hand.We look like the happiest couple in the world.

I miss the kind, gentle person you once were.Perhaps, one day, that person will return to me.


10/16

TELEMARKETERS

It happens every night at dinner.The phone rings.

I answer.There’s a slight pause beforethe person on the other endsays “Hello”.

Telemarketers. Again.

For a few seconds,I allow the call to continue.

I feel sorry for telemarketers.I can imagine what it might be liketo be verbally abused by peoplewho fervently want to be left alone.

I can also imagine what it might be liketo be a telemarketer driven over the edgeby rejection.He or she might pound a fist on a desk

in rage or frustration until the supervisor orders him or her to go home-the first step towards termination.

My mood changes.This is my home.I’m in the middle of dinner.I say “Goodbye” and hang up the phone.

Peace.

Again.Until tomorrow…..


11/16

HOUSEHUSBAND

You kiss me in my state of partial wakefulnessas you go off to work early in the morning.

The rest of the day I have to myself.

Breakfast with the LOS ANGELES TIMES.Household chores such as vacuuming.

A break to watch an afternoon soap opera(Why can’t Sonny and Alexis stay together?).More household chores: taking out all the trashand recyclables.Lunch: a fruit bar and a can of Slim-Fast.

A trip to Ralphs market where the teenageclerk ignores me because she’s muchmore interested in flirting with the bagboy.

A trip to Blockbuster Video where the teenagesalesclerk advises me that I might be too oldto appreciate the comic brilliance of CORKY ROMANO.Home to prepare dinner:two perfect Gardenburgers and a low-fat Caesar salad.

At 5:30 p.m., you come through the door and all my day’s events are forgottenas you tell me how the system crashed at workand you crave nothing but love and understanding.

I smile at you and give you a hug.That’s what househusbands are for, I say.


12/16

ENGAGEMENT DAY

We were led into a small room.There was plenty of air conditioning-

Heaven on Earth for penguins.Unfortunately, we were humansand the November day was already cold.

The salesperson gave us chocolate-coveredgraham crackers and designer water to consume.

After the consumption ended,we sat in our chairs waiting for the end of the sales pitchand the restoration of our freedom.

Do you want to upgrade to our most expensive ring?No.Would you like to sign up for our credit card?Yes.Do you want to buy anything else?Not today.

And so it continued,until the sale was finally consummated.

We were led out of the small room. As we emerged into the main store,we were told to stand against the wall.It was time for a Polaroid photo-the latest for a wall of portraitsof happy couples on the road to matrimony.

We put our arms around each other and smiled for the camera.

This is how the rest of our lives began.


13/16

IT HAPPENS EVERY SPRING

I lie awake in bed, watching you sleep.Your red hair, your perfect face-

Everything about you delights me.

I rejoice in being your husband.I’m happy to remember a spring nightFour years ago when you sent an Instant Message

Out of nowhere, expressing a desire to talk to me.I had given up on love and friendship at that time.I knew that love existed in the world

For everyone but me. After a few minutes, you convinced me that lifeShouldn’t be wasted anymore.

Every spring night, I look at you as you sleep.I cherish the memories of our four years together

And I know there will be wonderful times ahead.


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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Terry McCarty was born in Electra, Texason July 31, 1959. He has lived in California

since 1988. He has been a writer and performer of poetry/spoken word since 1998. He has been a featured poet at thesevenues:Midnight Special Bookstore (Santa Monica, CA),Coffee Cartel (Redondo Beach, CA),Gypsy Den Grand Central (Santa Ana, CA),Borders Bookstores (Santa Monica and Pasadena, CA),Sacred Grounds Coffee House (San Pedro, CA),Cobalt Café (Canoga Park, CA),Exile Books and Music (Sherman Oaks, CA),

Alley Kat Café (San Gabriel, CA),the Rapp Saloon (Santa Monica, CA)and Beyond Baroque (Venice, CA).He has also appeared in Lynda and Lisa LaRose’sTHE POETRY SPIRAL at Luna Sol Caféin Los Angeles, CA,Roni Walter’s BAKSTREEET COMETRI atThe Comedy Store in West Hollywood, CA,the Austin International Poetry Festival

in Austin, TX and at readings in Northern Californiaand Las Vegas, NV.

Chapbooks include: HOLLYWOOD POETRY, BORN TO WALK,WICHITA FALLS, USE YOUR DELUSION andINSUFFICIENT GRAVITAS.

For news of upcoming projects,send e-mail to [email protected].

Visit the POETRY-ARTS CONFIDENTIAL blog athttp://poetry-arts-confidential.blogspot.com

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