CONTENTS These poems are often opinionated, and the opinions are solely those of the author. INVENTORY HE HATED HELPLESSNESS I’LL BE YOUR DEAD MAN FOR THE EVENING SULPHUR SCORCHED EARTH WHAT YOU HOPED FOR SOCRATES – THE ALTERNATE ENDING

Thanks to Don Kingfisher Campbellfor his work on the original print edition.

INVENTORY Opened my book of life. It wasn't as satisfying a read as I would heve liked. A lot of short chapters--some of them completely blank But the chapter titles (about the things I wanted to do and the plans I made) sounded impressive.

The final third of the book--covering the last dozen years--is a marked improvement. Let's see if I can add more quantity and quality before the end arrives.

HE HATED HELPLESSNESS

My father hated helplessness in others. Especiallywhen it came from me. When I was a child, he gotangry because I was afraid to go down a very highslide at a playground. When I was a teenager, he wasexasperated when I had to take my driver’s test over.He said: YOU’VE GOT TO GET THIS RIGHT. When Iwas in college, he was upset over my accidentallybumping into the car next to me at the apartmentcomplex I lived in. He said: YOU’RE GOING BACKWARDS IN LIFE INSTEAD OF FORWARDS!!!

Once, my mother told me about this now-dead mannamed Ernie my father worked with. One day, Erniegot mad at my father and spit on him right in the middleof the telephone company plant room. My father felthe couldn’t do anything about it because he might losehis job.

He felt so helpless. And he hated that.

I'LL BE YOUR DEAD MAN FOR THE EVENING (revised version)I wanted so much to like it. I kept my mind open and transparent and walked down those stairs into the ornate club and once the open mike began I felt like I was tied to a Catherine Wheel and made to watch an enormous circle jerk where almost all the poets talked about how they knew each other and the look-how-cool-we-are-nessrolled off the stage like a special-effects fog. I wanted ever so much to stay past the floor show and see the Main Event I drove a few miles to witness but, as I kept spin-ning on my Catherine Wheel, I started thinking of all the things I hate about poetry-- about how strangers aren't al-ways made to feel welcome and that I'm not sitting at the Cool Table and may never be invited to the Cool Table and getting very tired of entree to the Cool Table being deter-mined by who publishes you, who you're BPF's (Best Po-etic Friends) with, whether or not you've won the Go-Kart Prize, whether or not you're Academic enough, whether or not your writing is bloody or merely pomegranate-juicy enough. So I unhooked the restraints of my Wheel, left a tip for the waitress and made an exit.

SULPHUR A little revenge makes you feel like wanting more revenge

He breathed sulphur on you one night as people watched

And you were glad when he wouldn’t listen to your boss

His fireball behavior made it easier for you and boss to enforce his exile

What if you forgave him and what if he never behaved like that around you again

You’re afraid to guess wrong and be made a fool of so you exhale sulphur

And continue the revenge which makes you feel like needing more revenge

SCORCHED EARTH It was a weekend day in the spring of 1991 when I reported to work as an extra on a commercial for a then-popular beer. The commercial was filmed on and around a bridge near Downtown Los Angeles. These were the days when Downtown was ungentrified. Near the check-in point for the extras was the charred remnants of what was a homeless encampment. I wondered who poured the gasoline and lit the match. Maybe it was someone from the production wanting people to go away and not bother the filming. The casual cruelty bothered me. But I looked away and stayed in line to get my pay voucher before the day’s work began.

WHAT YOU HOPED FOR It was a 1993 evening in Bel-Airwhen you told me the truth: I was hired because the production company wouldn't pay for someone from New York to stand in for the Actor in Los Angeles.At the time, I was hurt by what you said. Did I irritate you that much? Apparently so. I knew you wanted to be an actress. And I empathized with how disappointed you were when a small role as a beauti-cian went to a day player instead. Recently, I looked up your name on the Internet Movie Database to see what acting credits you compiled in the past decade and-a-half: none.There were a few miscellaneous crew listings-- but for films made in the previous decade.Whatever you're doing now, I hope all is well with you and that you aren't spending too much time bemoaning the gap between what you hoped to achieveand making the best of what remains.

In Los Angeles,it can hurt a lotwhen you want to be Someoneand wake up each morningwondering why you movedso many miles awayto live an unexceptional life.You could just as easilyhave accomplished thatin your hometown.

SOCRATES—THE ALTERNATE ENDING Socrates sat in the middle of the tent. He looked at the cup of hemlock that was to make him die after drinking. Socrates poured the hemlock out of the cup and onto the ground. Socrates began to walk out of the tent. Guard Number One drew his sword. Guard Number Two said: DON'T KILL HIM. Guard Number Two said: WE WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE. BUT WE WILL ENSURE NO ONE WILL REMEM-BER YOU!

Socrates walked away from the encampment. Today, the people who still care remember Socrates. But Guards One and Two have long been forgotten.

ALSO BY TERRY McCARTY:INTERLOPER (self-published)[insert clever title here] (self-published)I SAW IT ON TV (Lummox Press LittleRed Books Series)20 GREATEST HITS: POEMS 1997-2004(e-book available in Amazon Kindleand iBooks editions)NEVER MET BUKOWSKI (self-published)IMPERFECTIONIST (Meridien Press-Works)HOLLYWOOD POETRY: THE DEFINI-TIVE EDITION (coming fall 2012)

Also published in these anthologies:SO LUMINOUS THE WILDFLOWERS(Tebot Bach Press)THE LONG WAY HOME: THE BEST OFTHE LITTLE RED BOOKS SERIES 1998-2008 (Lummox Press)