WICHITA FALLS:10TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION

New and Revised Poemsby Terry McCarty

Copyright 2004-2014 by Terry McCartyAll rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used and reproduced in any manner whatsoever withoutwritten permission from the author exceptin the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews. The poems contained in this book are bothfictional and reality-inspired.Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

For Valarie, Sinead and Samantha.

Contents

ODE TO GOODY’SCAROLFOUR ROWS FROM THE TOPI DIDN’T FIND IT1980CARTWHEELS IN THE DRIVEWAY1981THE NIGHTBIRD2014/1975

ODE TO GOODY’S

they told me to stay away from Goody’sbecause it was a store for adultsand, as they kept telling me,Goody’s was a fountain of sin,degradation and loss of ambition

I wanted to see the store anyway

one Saturday,the movie at the Tower Theatre ended earlyso I crossed the street,took off my obedient-child shoesand waded into the fountain of sin

there were a lot of pipes for salean ad for something called “Big Bambu”a flag with an “e” symbol and green stripesa comic book cover showing a man urinatinginto a toilet—and you could see his penis!another comic book with the titlePLUNGE INTO THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR!

also, I saw free samples of a powderknown as Cokesnuff“try some,” said the long-haired manbehind the counter“you won’t get arrested for using this”

I smelled the vanilla-flavored powderit was sweet but overpoweringI began to leave the store

“you want a roach clip?” asked the employee“What are they for?” I responded“To catch roaches with,” said the employeewith a smile. I bought a deluxe clip for fifty centsand then looked at my watch3:30 p.m.my mother was going to pick me upin front of the Towerat 3:45

“you want to invest in a hash pipe?” the employee asked“not today,” I replied

as I left the store,the employee laughed and said,“have a nice trip, man!”

for months afterwards,I wondered what he meant by that

CAROL

In 1974, I was a member of theBackdoor Youth Theatre groupin Wichita Falls, Texas.One Saturday afternoon, I sawa fifteen-year-old girl with long brown hair play the roleof Lady Macbeth.“Out, damned spot!” Carol saidas she convincingly essayed themadness of the character.

I fell in love.

A few Saturdays later, I asked her for a date.She smiled and said, “I’ll let you know.”

One Saturday later, we had that date.I was too young to drive,so my parents had to chaperone.I came calling at her parents’ homenear Midwestern University.While my parents were at the State Theatre,Carol and I had dinnerat the old Piccadilly Cafeteria.She told me about her life in Guamwhen her father was still in the Air Force.I told her about my growing up in thesmall town of Electra.She told me of her dislike of Jerry Lewis.I told her I didn’t think he was all that bad.

Two things were becoming evident.We didn’t have a lot in common andI didn’t know how to carry on a conversation.Those were the days where I really didn’t know how to talk to—or listen to—a womanespecially when she was nine months olderand infinitely more mature than I was.

But I believed she was a goddessand told myself, “This could work!Don’t let her get away!We’re the couple Neil Diamond sang aboutin Longfellow Serenade.

She’s a lady.And I’m a dreamer.”

After dinner, Carol and I walkedto the Strand Theater and boughttwo tickets to Peter Bogdanovich’s versionof Henry James’ DAISY MILLER.I picked the movie.I hoped that Carol would appreciatemy sophisticated taste.

When it was over,we received a ride from my parents.I walked Carol to the front stepof her parents’ home.

“Thanks for a nice evening,” I said.“Thank you,” she said with a smile.“Maybe we could do this again sometime,” I said.“We’ll have to talk about that,” she said in a soft,quiet voice.

On the way back to Electra,I began to believe that a love affairof the ages had begun.I knew we would see each other againin theater class-seven whole days away.

I couldn’t wait that long.Three days later, I sent hera “thank you” card.My parents said, “Take it slow.”I said, “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

Those were the days when I didn’twant to listen to my parents’ wisdom.

Four days passed.I saw Carol at Backdoor Theatre.I tried to talk to her, but sheseemed disinterested in me.What little conversation there wasconcerned the theater class and theupcoming public performance of scenesfrom great American plays.

“Maybe it’s not over,” I thought.“Perhaps I should wait a few weeksand call her once more…”

…And that’s exactly what I did.I called her on the afternoon of Christmas Eve at her parents’ home.“You just caught me with a piece of cheesein my mouth,” Carol said.I had an upsurge of hope.She was in a good mood!Perhaps she’ll say yes!

After about five minutes of casual conversation,I asked her about the possibility of a second date.She declined-politely but firmly.I hung up the phone, devastated.No great love affair for me.

From that point on, Carol and I had only a fewbrief, keep-it-light“Hi, how are you doing?” encounters.In 1977, we graduated from our separate high schools.I attended Midwestern State University.She went to a college in another city.

After that, I never saw her again.

FOUR ROWS FROM THE TOP

I sat four rows from the topof Memorial Stadium in Wichita Falls, Texaswith ten other members of the high school bandI belonged to.

The band director exiled all eleven of usto the upper rows of the stadium because of his displeasurewith our performance.He wanted to “win” every halftime routine.He wanted to “win” a Number One rating in the district marching contest.It was obvious he hadn’t seen THE BAD NEWS BEARS,with its message that allmembers of a team-no matter how weak-should play in the championship game.

So we stayed seated in the upper rows-glad to be out of school and curious to see what his visionof High School Marching Bandperfection would look like.

It wasn’t a pretty sight.The straight lines weren’t straight.Few of the students picked up their feet and pointed their toes.The band achieved an amazingimitation of a drunken slinky toy when it came time to turnin the opposite direction.The sound of music appeared and disappeared.

An hour later, the ratings for District 2-AA were read.

Our school received…..a Number Four rating.The band director threw his cigarette and said a wordthat looked like “shit”to those of us sitting four rows from the top.

The band director talked a lot about “winning.”He never got around to teaching us how to lose.

I DIDN’T FIND IT

ONEIn 1976, the message was everywhere in Texas.The words I FOUND IT!appeared in black letters on a yellow backgroundon either billboards or bumper stickers.

Commercials on AM radiofeatured an announcer with a reassuring voicetelling the audience:“If you find it, you’ll know it!”

TWOThe commercials, the billboards and the bumper stickerswere soft-sell recruiting tools for the Southern Baptist interpretation of Christianity—dramatizing the concept of a Search for Answers.

In the Southern Baptist world,Jesus also played the role of Mister Manners:No smoking,No drinking,No dancing,No premarital sex,No to anything the church found “satanic.”

I remember the First Baptist Churchin downtown Wichita Falls, Texas.It was a very large building.I never went inside,but I was told the church had its own bowling alley.

I pondered this question:Would Jesus want His followersto bowl only by themselves?

So I never “found it.”

And I don’t think Jesus will penalize mefor not joining that particular search.

1980

Most of my friends were getting married.I became jealous.For my first three years of college,I suffered dozens of infatuations.Sometimes, I would approach peopleand be turned down by telephone.Otherwise, I’d see certain young womenand tell myself:“They don’t want to be with someone like me.”

I was a very young 21—imagining how easya relationship with a womancould be.If she decided she liked me,then she’d listen to everythingI said and look at me adoringly.

And then something happened.I met a shy 18-year-old freshman in the University band.We dated for an entire weekend.On Monday,I told her “I love you.”She said: “This is going way too fast.Let’s just be friends.”

“No one will ever love me,”I told myself afterwardsas I sentenced myselfto two months of nothing morethan going to classand returning home to study.

After the two months ended,I began to meet and date other women,beginning the slow processof learning to listen,to curb selfishness,and to know the differencebetween love and infatuation.

CARTWHEELS IN THE DRIVEWAY

A single kiss became multiple kisses.Kisses started in English and ended up French.

Sharon and I were celebrating the end of our first date.Then the kissing stopped.

“I have something to tell you,” she said.

She told me of her day jobas a cashier in the cafeteriaat Sheppard Air Force Base.Lots of “lonely little boys”from West Germany were stationed at Sheppardfor pilot training.

One day, Sharon fell in love witha “lonely boy” named Alex.It was an intense romancethat ended after six months.

Three months after their breakup,Sharon decided she wanted Alex back.Her decision came during our kissing session.

“I know Alex and I will be together again,”Sharon said.“My favorite song is ‘WORKING MY WAY BACK TO YOU’. It’s just a matter of time.Thank God Alex is still stationed at Sheppard.”

I did my best to change my persona from ardent loverto caring friend.“Thanks for letting me know,” I said.

Sharon escorted me to my car.We stopped in the middle

of her parents’ driveway.“Exercise is good for getting rid of stress.I think you should try turning a cartwheel,” she said.

“Right here?” I asked.“Right here,” Sharon replied.

I looked around.It was 2:00 a.m.No neighbors were in sight.I turned a couple of cartwheels.Sharon applauded.

“You’re going to feel a lot better,” she said.

She was right.I did feel better—for at least the durationof the drive home.

1981

The moment I walked intothe lounge of Pierce Hall,I threw my Accounting textbookinto a wastebasket.

I don’t want to be an accountant.I want to be my own man.

I sat down to watch TV.ANOTHER WORLD began.

Five minutes passed.I looked at the wastebasket.

Ten long minutes followed.The janitor came in to emptythe wastebasket.

I ran over and retrieved my book.

Fifteen minutes:a long time to be my own man.

THE NIGHTBIRD

She was the D.J.She wasn’t what she played.

The station manager ofKKQV-FM wasn’t happywhen the Nightbird went on the airand referred to John Lennonand Yoko Ono’s DOUBLE FANTASYas DOUBLE NIGHTMARE.

“Our consultants in New York know EXACTLY what the kids in Wichita Fallswant to listen to,”said the station manager.And, with her need for income overriding her desire to spreadthe gospel of true rock-and-roll,she allowed her tailfeathers to be pulled off.

The Nightbird fit herself intothe Procrustean bed ofplaying unchallenging music likeLipps Inc.’s FUNKYTOWN,Asia’s HEAT OF THE MOMENT,Quarterflash’s HARDEN MY HEARTand the song she hated the most-Stevie Nicks’ EDGE OF SEVENTEEN.

It seemed as if every young woman in Wichita Fallshad an overpowering desireto hear EDGE OF SEVENTEEN.Once, a 16-year-old caller told the Nightbird off-air about the ecstasyof losing her virginitywhile the song played on her boyfriend’s car radio.“When I hear that line

about the white-winged dove,I get horny all over again,” the caller said.

The Nightbird felt sorry for that girland dozens like her who would grow upto be uncomplaining fundamentalist Christian wivesready to settle forearly childrearing,Air Supply, Pat Robertsonand Ronald Reagan.

The best part of the Nightbird’s life was always after the10 p.m.-2 a.m. shift was over.She got into her car, turned the cassette deck up,and listened to the music KKQV-FM wouldn’t dreamof playing:The Clash, The Damned, Lee “Scratch” Perry,The Jam, The Slits and The Dickies .“Pure heaven,” thought the Nightbird as she resistedthe temptation to roll downthe windows and treat the good citizensof Wichita Falls to what they didn’t knowthey were missing.

2014/1975

when Bill and I got to the park,he said:“you need to be less shy andlearn to LIVE”

I couldn’t quitelook him in the eyeas I answered with:“maybe I’m a better observerthan a participant”

I spent the next decademostly observing others’ livesso I wouldn’t get into troublelike my older brother did

people spokeand sometimes advisedand I didn’t listen

people gave metheir trust and their heartsand I didn’t appreciatethe depth of their affection

many of themdid well in collegethen married young and went to work for decadesin the same jobsliving in Wichita Fallsand surrounding townsfor the rest of their lives

and I committed myself to being half-thereall present no futurescared of permanent roots

in 1985I went to work for relativesin New Mexico

in 1986I came back to Wichita Fallsand had a girlfriend(who I was separated fromfor most of the year)tell me to “go away”

kickstarting a loopof loss and pain and sorrowand learning yet againabout how some thingsbreak and remain broken

eventually(against my parents’ wishes)I moved to Californiaand stayed there,finally getting marriedat the age of 42

sometimesI think about what Bill said to methat Saturday afternoon

if I were to see him again,I’d confess that,at the age of almost 55,I’m less shyand haven’t quite LIVED,but I participatemuch morethan I did at the age of almost 16

OTHER BOOKS BY TERRY McCARTY:HOLLYWOOD POETRY: 2001-2013(Xlibris)20 GREATEST HITS: 1997-2004(PublishGreen)IMPERFECTIONIST (Meridien PressWorks)

Also included in these anthologies:LUMMOX 2 (Lummox Press)SO LUMINOUS THE WILDFLOWERS (Tebot Bach)THE LONG WAY HOME: THE BEST OFTHE LITTLE RED BOOKS SERIES (Lummox Press)