Jeremiah

“Adele,” he says.  She smiles, walks to 

where he’s sitting.  “Jerry,” she replies,

“the usual.”  No question, hardly a reply,

something else like an understanding 

where words are only a formality, a hiding

of what is true.  He says, “Yes.”  She returns

glass in hand, concern now in her eyes as she

looks more closely at his which seem to be

searching for what can be avoided.  “You

okay?” places the glass down, sees a slight

tremor in his hand as he reaches for it.

He lifts up his eyes, says, “I don’t know.”

“Adele!”  she turns and goes to another 

customer.  ‘The voice said,’ he whispers. ‘truth 

is beyond good and evil, right and wrong.

The ultimate reality of what is and what 

is done with it – the question of what is 

truth is the question of what fits and 

the consequences that arise: the natural 

or the unnatural realities.  The harmony 

and clarity and integrity.   The composition 

of which is not exclusive and what you call

right and wrong, lies – which are truths disguised –

good and bad, categories too simple for

the complexity of a life, of living.  Not to be

confused with complications, debris one is

unwilling to be free of.’  Jerry finishes. Raises 

a finger.  Adele arrives with another.  “You see

a ghost or something?”  “Maybe.”  “Oh, Sarah called.

Said if you stopped by to remind you she has the kids

for soccer practice tonight.  Get something to eat here.”

Adele smiles.  He takes a deep breath, lets out a long 

sigh.  “Let me see a menu.”   “You know what you 

want.”  He pauses.  Tilts the glass.  “It’s not on the

menu what you want.”  “The Fallen Angel burger,”

he says.  “What is truth, Adele?”  She gives a slight

smile and walks away.  Looks back, says, “Comin’

right up.”  The kitchen doors swinging shut. 

-Byron Hoot

 hootnhowlpoetry.com