Death Dwellings
Lights out,
I lie face up upon mattress
staring at the motel’s ceiling,
and though no one shares my bed,
know that
I am not alone.

Let me be direct.
I have killed.
I know this is a pretty blunt statement,
but don’t know how else to
get the truth out to you.
This is who I am.

Seeing your face contort ever so,
I figure you’re pondering my motivation and
I don’t blame you.
Such things often need be
brought into the light.

So okay…
Let’s go back a few years.
The street address is something like,
what? Florence Blvd?
East? West?
It matters… But then again…
Doesn’t.

I’m visiting a friend, and
she has this young son who is
quite enamored with me…
Go figure.
It happens.

This young boy has just been put to bed,
and having singled me out as
an object of affection,
he would very much like me to
wish him a good night.

I should interject here that
my motivation for killing
has nothing to do with
the act of tucking a child in.
Bear with me.
I’m getting to it.
We’ve still got time to kill here.

Anyway,
I step to this boy’s bedroom door
to find that there in the pitch black,
he’s already in bed;
tucked beneath covers.
Though not a relative,
from out of the darkness
I hear his voice.
“Goodnight Uncle Jack.”

And a warmth comes over me for,
dare say,
I love this child.

“Goodnight,” I respond,
“and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
There in the dark I hear this
delightful giggle.

Stepping away,
my hand runs across the wall
and comes across the light switch.
I look over to note this
and when I do,
there on the wall, things
begin to move.

Within in that brief glance,
I see a multitude of cockroaches
skittering to and fro.

And as I stand there
stunned and disgusted,
there from the far wall
again that sweet voice,
“Goodnight Uncle Jack.”

It takes me a moment
but I finally muster a final soft “Goodnight,”
and slowly back away
into the bright light of the hallway.

I… in the light.
He… in that… dark.

Moments ago I killed.
Here in this motel room,
just outside the toilet,
I beat a cockroach to death with a towel.
Killed it. Killed it. Phuqin killed it.
Flushed that mother-phuqer down the toilet.

This was not a Zen moment.

I will not qualify,
nor defend my perceived harsh immorality.

I really don’t care what you think of me.
So be it.

Time passes.
The Earth rotates,
and there in the dark,
something propagates.
And I and my Karmic conscious
lie in this amplified black,
full well knowing that I am still
not alone.
Know that my having killed
really means nothing.
Know that for this moment,
it is my current inability to
kill what I cannot see
that I must try to live with.
And this I will do,
yet try as I might,
cannot bring myself
to close my eyes.

I love,
and I hate.

In such a world as this,
it is possible to do both.

©06 Jack Hubbell