I think it was 2006
I know it was Worcester, Mass.

It was a piece of furniture
In burled cherry
Something long and heavy
We couldn’t lift with two men
So we roused Tino from the truck

It was in a room off from the foyer
Locked for a long time and
Enwebbed in the corners
As if it had been shut off
From all heat and light
Like some altar built for Miss Havisham

Tino noticed the scratching
On the side. The flashlight
Spilled on the wood and
Revealed the scarecrow
Etchings that, after a sideways squint,
Turned into words.

“I had her here,” they said.
“6-10-48.”
There was an arrow pointing up
To the top of the burled cherry
Thig-a-ma-jig. I ran my palm
Across the leveled wood
And imagined a consensual
Debauchery of the kind
I had never had
Occasion to enjoy

My mind took me back;
To cool rain on a spring day
Beyond my knowing. The sight
Of flames licking the insides
Of two impassioned souls
Who had brought
Life and lust to a room
That became both a shrine
And a mausoleum.

Later, when we dropped
The whatever-it-was off
I waited for the old woman
Who owned the house to scuttle by
In slippers that had swallowed
Her feet. She bent forward
As far as she could
And ran her hand along the top
Of the varnished wood.

I thought I caught the edge of
A smile, the light of memory
Gleaming like a candle in
Cataract-lacquered eyes

You men did a good job,
She said. It’s still in mint condition.
Oh, of course, there’s a little wear and tear
But after all, doesn’t age do that to us all?

She grinned, flashing a palisade
Of gray and yellow teeth.
I thanked her for her business.
She reached into her clutch,
Pulled out a neatly folded twenty
And told me to share it with “the boys.”

And as Tino was figuring how to
Split Andrew Jackson into thirds
I was imagining some cad
In a bowler and spats enjoying
Miss Havisham on top
Of the burled cherry whatchamacallit

And when the vision
Did not permit the looming of
Sprightly nymphs or sylphs
Or the transformation of the old woman
Into some younger, wilder iteration
Of herself
I closed my eyes and shuddered
At the picture in my head:

The one of me, when I got old.

12/06/2010

Author's Note: After all, what is more American than the fear of ageing

Posted on 12/06/2010
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch