A Squatter Named Wayne

A boy named Merlin walked up the three steps and dropped his coins in the slot and they jangled down to the bottom as he turned and made his way down the path, between rows of broken-down & hungry passengers who eyed him like he was a slab of meat, and he smiled when he saw me and there he took a seat to my left.

I hadn’t seen Merlin in a few years.  I was excited too.  His real name was Jeffrey, but everyone called him Merlin for reasons unknown to me.

He was one of my earlier friends in Burlington.  I met him when he and Eric were busking on Church St.  Merlin played the violin while Eric played the guitar and sang.  I thought he thought I was weird, but so was he.

Then he, Darren, and a Canadian squatter named Wayne, in town for the summer, showed up one night at the Radio Bean.  I lived right above the Bean.  I was outside smoking a cigarette when they showed up.

Merlin beckoned me over to join the group and all three of us went into the Radio Bean.  He introduced me to his cousin Darren and the squatter named Wayne who was currently crashing on his couch at his mom’s house.

A few days later Wayne was walking past the Radio Bean while I stood outside smoking a cigarette.

I was just about to go pick something up at the pharmacy which was right down the street.  He walked there with me and we chilled.  He was really easy to talk to and this spawned our new friendship.

Wayne and Merlin and Darren and I became good friends and then Wayne left and it was just Merlin and Darren.

I asked Merlin when I ran into him on the bus all those years later: Have you heard from Wayne for a while?  I really liked him.

He sent me some concerning letters, he said.  I went to Canada to see him.  I couldn’t find him.

What do you mean? I said, concerning letters?

He said he wanted to kill himself, Merlin told me.

I gasped.

I think he did it, he added.  That’s why I couldn’t find him when I went\\\

Authority Figures

Today I saw a cop

take a left turn

at a red light

but he did not

pull himself over

Nor was the allergist

honest with my wife

about the nature of

her illness

Or was the dentist

completely forthcoming

that the next year

of my life would consist

of only liquids and soft foods

I was told it was only

a six-month healing process

We as laymen expect

people in places of authority

to be honest- – -have

a higher standard of morality

Truth is

to them we’re just lab rats

abject sheep who are only here

to make them rich

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