warning

It’s 4:20 am
I’m in my home town
Nothing but triggers
I did my best
I failed-
Somehow
I had not a memory
But an actual cause
standing behind me
in the liquor store
-Followed me in
I exploded
Now that I think about it
it’s as if my own damn writing
had been trying to warn me

-M. Taggart

(written on 7/14/18 4:20 am)

poem-

Yesterday evening I taped trees
The cement footings are poured and the build is very much under way
Our contractor left tape for us to use for wrapping around trees
to indicate to the excavation crew which to remove
I used the entire roll
In all 39 trees will be gone
And as soon as I have more tape
More trees will be gone
Some might become angry reading this
I’m fine with that
The entire region was once completely cleared
Every Single Tree
Now the forest is thick and clustered
It needs to be thinned
So, I’ll drag my beer along
Tape a few more treees
And continue being me-
While on the land I listened
to the birds play and the insects buzz
The wind picked up slightly
I leaned against my truck
opened a beer
and watched the clouds move

Build

Yes. This is our build.

A Short Story – No Thanks, Lady

Short Story
Non Fiction
Written by -M. Taggart
7/8/18

 

No Thanks, Lady

 

Yesterday evening I went to the pub to have a beer, relax, and read Hemingway. Kim, the bartender, asked how Megan and Gavin were doing. I told her they are good and happy. After she brought the beer I dove into my book.

I needed a moment to clear my head.

A woman zeroed in on me. She sat on the stool next to me. She put her hand on my back and called me baby. I tried to ignore her.

Kim saw that I was annoyed. She came over and asked what I was reading. I told her which short story and that it was Hemingway. I told her that his sentence structure and delivery of words seems to calm me.

The woman sitting next to me told me I was a man of depth. She put her hand on my left arm, near the bend in my elbow and squeezed while leaning closer to me. She told me she would know because she’s a therapist.

Kim looked concerned for me and again asked how Megan and Gavin were doing. I quickly replied they were doing good while flashing my ring in the woman’s face. I told Kim that the building of our house was in full motion.

My thoughts raced. I wanted to scream at this disgusting being. I wanted to tell her to get her fucking hands off of me. I’m not a piece of meat. I would never do this to another person. But I didn’t. I had fought enough earlier in the day. I didn’t want to again.

I had purposefully chosen the bar stool closest to the wall. Hell, I had waited for it to open while standing in the corner. I wanted to be alone, with my book, around people without being touched. I dislike being touched. But I calmed myself and listened to her tell me about addiction. About how bad the town was suffering. She told me about all of this while licking her lips constantly. She even removed her glasses and tried her best attempt to show me her younger self.

She droned on and on and said, “I don’t fucking know, there’s the f word, I never say fuck, I don’t fucking know how to fix these addicts. I don’t know what to do.” All while finding any possible avenue to touch my shoulder, arm, back, and even reaching for my hand, the one with the wedding ring. “Do you know what I’m saying, baby, don’t you feel their pain. I pulled away, pushing myself into the wall the best I could. Then she made the mistake of calling me brilliant. She doesn’t know me. I’ve hardly spoken and now I’m brilliant? More like now I’m the therapist. This is nothing new to me. People latch on to me and vomit. I sit and I listen and I smile and I think. This person is a dime a dozen and when I was done listening to what I could gather for writing material I told her ever so nicely, “It’s time for me to read my book.” And I let her fade away into realizing how little I cared for her attempt at knowing me.

I ignored her when she tried to engage me again. She paid, quickly finished her drink, and left the pub.

I did want to ask her a few questions. Such as, “What are you views on sexism?” But I didn’t. I did tell her that I was a writer. She didn’t listen. But I did. I learned she isn’t capable enough to help her addicted clients to the level she wishes and she wasn’t aware enough to know I was going to use her possible sex addiction in a short story. That’s what happens when people talk too much and don’t listen.

 

-M. Taggart

 

poem

There are lines of words put together
in such a manner that they adjust minds
bringing a clarity of being which beckons a return
These are the authors I consider timeless greats
And gender, nor color of skin matters in this
realm, nor will it ever; to obtain wellness
from words pushing humanity toward
its best possible version may not have been
the goal at the onset, but they have become the
light that so many of us have needed to drink
No better is my shadow than any other
as this theater of life continues on

-M. Taggart

sleep

My words don’t have formation today
I was up at 3:15 AM
I told myself not to write
By 4:30 AM I fumbled for my phone
I had already destroyed a few good lines
by ignoring them and twisting them all around
I guess asking myself not to write when I am a writer
doesn’t work, someone has to carry these words
and so I wrote a portion of what’s in this
and finally fell back to sleep

-M. Taggart