Dispatch #1
I talked to the press
I thought I should tell them
everything, and by press I mean
a woman about my age
working for the Gothamist
and sitting in the coffee shop
we both live close to. By everything
I mean how when you find a way
to carry leftovers to the third
or fourth meal, you feel creepingly
domestic, like
we do now have
a little family,
Marilla and I
and our cat – we’ve been spending
so much time together.
If you are reading this in New York
I know that we spend more time together
than you do
with your family
or your friends
or your roommates
because I snitched on my landlord
and told the city
of illegal gas lines
feeding my building, and now
I’m telling the reporter
that the worst was over
spring is here
and we are no longer
very cold. So
Marilla traded her full time job
for part time at a bakery. And I
work part time as a camera technician
and together that’s fulltime
paying the half rent
we’ve negotiated
with our landlord. And it makes sense
that between us we fulltime
do some art thing, and once
the leaves return
we will feel
very lucky.
If you are wondering
if you to can spend
this much time
together
with your little family,
I advise you to
find a landlord
without fear
of the repercussions
amassed
from blowing up their tenants.
Catch them – tell your neighbors
form a tenant’s association
and pay half rent.
This I told the reporter
and this they wrote down. And
she asked,
“What do you do with all
your time?”
I have a draft of a manuscript
and I go to socialist meetings
not too many
but sometimes
I need to get outside the house,
and talk to people about my landlord
and what they jokingly call
my communist lifestyle
that we are all fighting for.
This I told the reporter.
I believe in communism
but for some reason
I’m still trying to finish
this book
before I turn thirty
a deadline without purpose.
Maybe it’s that so many of you
can’t pay your rent this month
never mind spending time
with your little family.
A dilemma that tarnishes
my short walks
on a weekday, or maybe
it’s knowing what you do
to put cash in hand
that has tainted my
long lunches and
leftovers and toast? Or
could it be
I’ve internalized
the American infection
of protestant workerism?
I am not a utopian.
I think
more time
doesn’t make it all
worth it. Or us happy,
I mean, look at children
born to out grow their toys.
No, I don’t think we should
be trying to finish
our first books
before age thirty.
Let us believe in
writing longer books
spend years on them
on their margins
until they are full
and we are dead, and you’ll
read them
the book of a poet
who knew their worth
so then, after then
finally
we can judge them.
Oskar Peacock
Oskar is a writer and filmmaker. He recently moved to Philadelphia where he doesn't know anybody.