Year of the Monkey
Year of the Monkey
by Joseph Hargraves
Resting in an empty Chinese
restaurant off Washington Street
after a day of walking San
Francisco’s hills; a rattling
fan stirs fish stench and heat.
My hands tremor on smudged glass
covering the pink table cloth
as I theorize how much the
spinal tap will hurt. Too
nauseous to eat; I stare at
an Asian woman in a Budweiser
poster announcing my year: That
of the Monkey. I open a used
copy of Edward Field’s “New and
Selected Poems.” There’s no
possibility that you, three time
zones away, will walk in and ask
to join me. And even if that foul
miracle happens I won’t say
anything as I stand up on
aching legs and walk out.
I think there’s certainly times when we need to be alone with our thoughts…whether to enjoy the silence, brood, or just be.
Poem is very literal so when i came across “My hands tremor on smudged glass covering the pink table cloth as I theorize how much the spinal tap will hurt.” i took it to mean a real actual spinal tap and not a figurative comparison his the poet’s feelings on life at the moment. So there is, we may presume, an ailment or suffering to be contended with here. Often the presence of suffering can bring in a whole legion of anxieties even rooting to the nature of God, Life, and the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. It’s depressing and hard to live with pain.
The end of the poem bears another truth–that ultimately we live life alone and isolation is an essential part of our existence.
“I stare at an Asian woman in a Budweiser poster announcing my year: That of the Monkey. I open a used copy of Edward Field’s “New and Selected Poems.†There’s no possibility that you, three time
zones away, will walk in and ask to join me. And even if that foul
miracle happens I won’t say anything as I stand up on aching legs and walk out.” Having his own year in the Chinese calender is a crafty way to show that the poet has uniqueness/individuality and that it’s only the tip of the iceberg. Clever! And we have to own it, right? Each and every one of us own the details of our life and it makes us. Sometimes these ‘details’ make like tough and it’s a stark realization that we must deal with them alone. Great piece!