Corey Jack’s Misery (poem)
Corey Jack’s Misery
He’d been going good
Corey Jack, thirty-nine
One Italian heel on the ring
Pomps his hair like Elvis this time
Gauges, cause he tracks these things
The young guy in the mirror
Just shift around and tug out his lapel
Mostly thin
Mostly cool
Talking to this broad, who’s a little past it
She came up to the bar with a grin
“I don’t know why I had such a crush on Gene Hackman
Wasn’t he a priest? I think.”
He doesn’t know
He doesn’t know what she means.
“Corey,” she says, like he’d blanked or something.
“Yeah,” he shrugs and knocks her hand away,
“in that stupid movie.”
So, way back, he knew her, took her out
He hates her like she’s played him for a schmuck
Knows she thinks he knows her back
Said, “Liindaa” like he did because he does
It’s 1985
all the rush of immortality
Of that cusp between decadences
When gods were falling from the sky
Death and death and death
Came down
He feels scornful of religion
Big Guy don’t care for Linda
Jack, inside and out, has known this all the way
And yet, he feels there may be some law
That says your power, Corey Jack, diminishes
Because for years you haven’t proved it
To yourself
Corey Jack’s Misery
Paranoia
(2017, Stephanie Foster)