I went to the casino again last night. I walked the main floor listening to the cacophony of a million slot machines. They sang out an endless golden chorus of song.
Sang in the round
Sang until dawn
till we all fell dead drunk down
or broke on the ground
usually it was both.
I saw the old man there. He was dressed as a janitor this time. A red jacket, matching tiny hat, and a fabulous mustache. The monkey was perched on his shoulder and still engulfed in flames. Again, no one seemed to notice. I watched the old man as he swept up bits of paper, losing tickets, and popcorn. He started to chuckle as he approached me, smiled slyly and told me the story.
“Things don’t happen the way they’re described in books.” he said. “Nope. They never do.”
“There was a wounded bird,” he took out a cigarette and lit it off the monkeys outstretched paw, nodded thankfully and puffed. “I don’t know where. It was dusk and the little wounded bird, lay by the trunk of the old tree, in the parking lot behind a factory. The giant cat ghosts came and visited it,” the monkey screeched in concern. “Oh, don’t worry, cat ghosts don’t eat little birds,” whispered the old man to the monkey. “They live on silence and starlight,” his eyes twinkled.
So the giant cat ghosts came
and beheld the small wounded bird.
There was a hot wound of sadness on side of its head
the color of red
and if you listened real close you could hear the wound singing.
It sang of silence and starlight for the giant cat ghosts
they devoured the song and then reenacted a scene in the night sky.
Do you remember?
He nodded towards me and began to sing,
“Your silly broken heart
got all torn apart, by that girl…”
(to be continued)
