Featuring Jason Gerrish

the old broke leg falls

She was married

and so, we snuck 

off of the road

into the thick

dense undergrowth. 

 

She found a lost

forgotten path,

the abandoned

rusted rail and 

buckled steps down 

to Broke Leg Falls.

 

The old broke leg 

falls, the ruins 

that wasted there,

before they even 

hatched the idea 

to make it safe

again: another 

roadside attraction. 

 

The light flashed 

and fumbled at

the canopy 

of leaves

but it could not

follow our 

steep, rugged climb. 

 

And at smooth rock 

bottom, I listened

carefully

for the road, but 

there may as well 

been nothing left 

of what lay above

our dark, veiled gorge. 

 

‘Watch out for 

snakes,’ she said. 

 

The falls slapped 

the rocks and 

sprayed laughter 

while we watched

the other

get undressed,

 

sprayed and spilt

and streamed round 

gurgling

with pleasure.

 

She wade through 

the pool to 

the muddy 

edge I sat,

climbed on like

a nymph and 

absolved me

warm below.

 

And driving back 

home, alone, to 

the trailer, in 

wet clothes I dreamt

of all lost and

forgotten love, 

 

all good and lost,

elusive love.

 

And I did not 

think that she or

I was starting 

anything new

 

…until 2 

months later 

when she called.

 

the old man’s last drive

 

 

He met this one named Claudette

and they ran around 

for a while.

 

…she was crazy…

 

… she says,

‘You’re pretty good in bed, Eddie,

but you don’t last very long.

We’re going to get you the pill…’

 

So he picked her up 

from work one day

and they drove, 

seen a doctor,

got a script.

 

Then later on 

at the bar

she told everybody.

 

‘…I’m going to have some fun tonight. 

We got the pill!’

 

‘…she was crazy.’

 

But they did have fun 

he said

for a while,

until this one night.

 

They were drinking

at the White Rock Inn,

and it was getting late.

 

‘Look Claudette, I’m going home,’ he said, 

I can’t stay here until the bar closes every night.

Are you coming?’

 

‘…and she says, No. 

You go home, she says,

I’m going to find a real man.’

 

So he took the couch that night

and an hour or so later

Claudette stumbled in 

with some guy

and the two of them walk 

right passed him, 

to the bedroom.

 

‘…Haaave fun, I say.

You know, to spite her…’

 

‘…Fuck you! she says…’

 

The old man 

always traveled light

and the next morning 

he grabbed up a few things:

 

bag of clothes, 

radio,

couple CD’s, 

and the little beer 

left in the fridge

 

‘…I go to see the landlord, Jimmy

and tell him what happened…’

 

‘I can’t stay there anymore, after that,’

he told Jimmy, ‘I’m giving the place to Claudette.’

 

and Jimmy said, 

“That really sucks, Eddie.

I wish there was something 

I could do for you.”

 

The old man said, ‘Well… I just paid the rent. 

You could give me back my half, at least?’

 

but Jimmy said,

‘I’m sorry Eddie, that’s not the way it works.’

 

So the old man went

and he got a room.

 

‘…but that Claudette found me…’

 

‘…I don’t know how

but she found me.’

 

He answered the door

of his rented room

and she was standing there.

 

‘Eddie, please give me a ride to work?’ Claudette said,

‘I’m going to lose my job, if I miss another day.’

 

‘…Unbelievable…’

 

‘…I’m looking at this woman and I’m thinking

what the fuck do you want from me?

you’re fucking crazy…’

 

‘… but it wasn’t her fault.’

 

He reached in his pocket 

and handed her the car keys.

 

‘What’s this?’ Claudette said.

 

‘…It’s all yours, I say…’

 

‘Really? Oh Eddie.

Thank you so much.

I don’t believe you.’

 

‘…Whatever.’

 

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I have to go. Thank you, Eddie.’

 

‘…but I didn’t need to drive 

anymore anyway…’

 

He was 68 then

and he had like 

fifteen DUI’s.

 

 

Chef Boyardee

 

 

They all drooled

due to their 

meds; I wrote 

 

this in their journals for

their coordinators 

to inform physicians, 

 

but it was up to the gods,

and the gods desired to make

things predictable and safe.

 

So, they drooled, and the 

fight in them scarcely 

came to the surface.

 

They watched TV, ate 

Hamburger Helper,

and it was to last 

 

forever, they supposed,

an endless supply of 

TV and Chef Boyardee.

Charles Bukowski’s dead

 

 

‘Bukowski…’ 

 

‘Bukowski…’

 

‘Bukowski…’ Hal said, 

 

and that was all 

that he wanted 

to talk about.

 

I offered him my copy 

of Adrian Manning’s 

Digging Up The Bones

 

but he stumbled out 

the door soon after

leaving the book on 

my coffee table.

 

Then again

at the bar

this evening:

 

‘Bukowski…Bukowski… Bukowski…’

 

‘For crying out loud,’ I said, 

‘get out of the poor dead man’s ass.’

Jason Gerrish has been writing poetry and fiction since his early twenties, but has just recently taken an interest in publishing some of his work. His first book of poetry titled Old State Road, in collaboration with photographer Brad Daulton, was published by UnCollected Press in April of 2021. Jason’s poems have appeared in the online publication, A Thin Slice Of Anxiety, and both Jason’s and Brad Dalton’s work has been featured in The Raw Art Review. You can learn more about both authors, at their website oldstaterd.com