Guilt Trip - John Field

You can keep your cornfields, silos,                                           

Autographed bibles and gooseberry jam.                                    

Bye-bye frozen road kill and frost-bitten toes.                          

I wanted cocktails named after movie stars,

Surfboards and sun-cured girls far too young for me  

Trailing wakes of dangerous possibilities.       

Time to git it in my soul.

Finally! My Hollywood-nurtured fantasies

Were ready to take off  

Like a flock of migratory birds heading west 

Because everywhere else wasn’t there anymore.

“Let’s break to the basics,“ my mother declared

As she blocked the front door.

“You’ll never learn a single thing in California

They’ll ever pay you for.”

To which I replied:

“Adios Dad and the collection of serious junk 

You bought to have and look swell 

On your shelves, 

A jumble of expensive tools, gears and pulleys, 

Chains and bags of shiny stainless steel nails

You’ve only used once and that as a last resort. 

It’s 1955, for goodness sake! 

When are you going to unpack 

The black market sugar, 

Coffee and canned sardines 

Mom stashed in the attic during World War II?”

Vaguely aware of the fact 

That my heart had a crack in it 

Which made it easy to empty 

But impossible to fill,

I jingled my car keys,

Hopped behind the wheel

Of the brand new Chevy Bel Air  

My father bought for me 

And headed for LA

Without a good thought in my head,

Halfway there before I started the engine. 

                                     ***