a rare currency

a rare currency

A Poem by jacob erin-cilberto

 a rare currency

 

sporadic memory bank

a reserve of intense pension

a social insecurity

there is no retirement of a painful past

it lingers on the job

refusing to take its walking papers

 

so we keep writing checks with a bleeding heart pen

and our accounts diminish to discontent

 

when asked to deposit affections

we sign our poems

and slip a wry smile to the teller,

then turn around and walk out of another relationship

 

just as broke as before.

 

 

 

erin-cilberto

8/2/15

© 2015 jacob erin-cilberto


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Reviews

Jacob,

Sadly, it is a cycle that repeats itself from generation to generation ... Or, at least, that has been my personal experience in Life ...

My Dad worked three jobs at once and built my Mom a brand new home, complete with concrete Storm Cellar, with his own hands (he was a Master Cabinet Builder & Carpenter), and provided her with a brand spanking a*s new 1958 Mercury Montclair with push button automatic transmission, and all of the by the time I was little more than 3 years old and going on 4 ... But to give her what he thought she needed, thought she wanted, meant he was not at home, was never there, but working ... And so, she got to running around and cheated many a time ... A story I'll tell more of some other time ...

Long sad story short: They divorced ... She married the last guy she was fooling around with (my StepDad whom I did love, because he raised me like his own son), and my Dad remarried and went on with his life, always being in love with my Mom ...

Unfaithfulness comes in diverse varieties, though we seldom think of it that way ... My Dad gave my Mom all the frills he thought a woman wanted and needed, and what she needed most was him ...

In his second marriage, unfaithfulness found him once again ... This time it was because he started dating a woman who assumed he was rich, because he had bought himself a new car ... And it was money, not him, that she wanted and needed ... Over the years, she nearly bankrupted him on numerous occasions, because she want the freedom to spend money, use credit (towards the end: Gamble) and just expected him to work his a*s off for her the same way that he did for my Mom, and neither of those two fine women appreciated a f*****g thing that he did for them ...

My Dad was a damn good man ... Had it not been for my Mom, my Dad and StepDad would have been best of friends, as they both served in Korea ...

But, my Dad sucked it up, thought he had it all fixed to where my StepMom could not access his (their) money irresponsibly anymore, had all his bills and property paid off, a secret stash of savings tucked away in the bank, and was ready to retire, go hunting, fishing, or work just because he enjoyed working and not because he had to to pay bills and survive … He retired at age 70 … Or thought to ...

I only saw my Dad drunk (much less crying) one time in my life ... He sat there and told me that something inside him said, "Go to the bank and check your situation." ... He did, and found that she had discovered his stash of savings, spent every f*****g dime of it, and had forged his signature and re-mortgaged his property, vehicles, and etc. … Hocked to hell and back all that they had together! ...

She denied him (not meaning to as she just couldn't help it) the right to retire and enjoy the last days of his life … With her ... ...

Two times of unfaithful women was just too much for him ... That traumatic shock was the onset of Multiple Myeloma (sadly a hereditary disease that may well come see me one day soon) ... He thought he had hurt his shoulder, but it was the big f*****g Big C ...

There he was, my Dad, dying of f*****g Cancer, and forced to work and run a job with employees on a major job, the Cancer attacking and dissolving his bones one by one, and dumping the Calcium into his bloodstream in shutting down his kidneys ... I watched him in the hospital in Lubbock, Texas, puking his guts out, shitting his brains out one minute and constipated to hell the next, and the pain from his crumbling ribs and spine sucking the very breath out of him ... And he never once complained …

My StepDad had won my Mom by whipping my Dad Beat the s**t outta my Dad and shamed him in front of his own wife ... Yet, I was by my StepDad's side when he died, and told me that he did not know how to deal with suffering and dying because it was too much to bear ... Even asked me to kill him ... He was the toughest man I ever saw ... Witnessed him whip his brother and three brother-in-laws on a fishing trip vacation when I was a kid, and he beat the s**t out of them all ... He was no coward ...

And yet, my meek and gentle giant of a Dad had more courage at the end of his life than did that brave and tough man from Sidney, Texas, that my StepDad was ...

I had to go to New Mexico on weekends to run his last job for him, because the customer was threatening to sue a f*****g dying man for not completing their job in a timely fashion … His hands were ignoring him on the job, just f*****g off on the clock for a paycheck and did not give a s**t about all my Dad was going through … He told them, “When Marvin gets here, you'll damn sure work, because he ain't tough, but he is a mean little f****r that'll take a hammer to you a*s.” … My Dad was right, and after a taste of seeing that I would not back down, would not put up with any of their s**t, the boys went back to doing real men's work ...

Unfaithfulness takes on many faces ... And I found myself behaving that way more times than I care to mention over the years, and never felt like I was able to make up for it with my late wife ... Forest Gump's Mom was right: "Stupid is, as Stupid does."

I hope that you, Jacob, and those who read comments before they Poetry, will take a moment in time to read my story about my Dad's battle with Cancer, his personal philosophy that he passed on to me, and the last conversation we ever had together, before he died … To Share a Smile: https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/FlynndeGraham/2859784/


Great Poem, Jacob!

Marve


Posted 5 Months Ago


jacob erin-cilberto

5 Months Ago

Thank you, Marve...and so sorry what your dad had to go through.
j.
Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn de Graham

5 Months Ago

Wanna attain to gain a far better perspective on life, even as bad as it can be? ... Sink you teeth .. read more
“sporadic memory bank
a reserve of intense pension
a social insecurity”

Love the intro. Fantastic word play.

I love the continuation of that wordplay with
“our accounts diminish to discontent
when asked to deposit affections”

A creative breakdown of how “transactional” relationships can get.
Convicted me of how I can into that mindset and stop treating people with the respect they deserve.

Thanks Brother for sharing this with us!

Posted 4 Years Ago


jacob erin-cilberto

4 Years Ago

thank you for your kind review, Apollos,
j.
Apollos

4 Years Ago

Absolutely!
And while that painful past doggedly refuses "its walking papers"--in the end--we gratefully accept ours.
Perhaps, not "broke" but broken.
Impressive work!

Posted 6 Years Ago


jacob erin-cilberto

6 Years Ago

thank you for your kind words, Jimmy.
j.
"there is no retirement of a painful past

it lingers on the job

refusing to take its walking papers"---

A ruthless, flesh and blood reality . Well depicted.
******************************************************************************************************************

Posted 6 Years Ago


jacob erin-cilberto

6 Years Ago

thank you for your words, Anand...
j.
Honest thoughts made the reader think and ponder my friend.
"so we keep writing checks with a bleeding heart pen
and our accounts diminish to discontent"
I liked the flow of thoughts leading to true ending. The above lines are true. We can find ourselves empty and broke. Thank you Jacob for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

Posted 6 Years Ago


jacob erin-cilberto

6 Years Ago

thank you, Coyote.....
j.
Coyote Poetry

6 Years Ago

You are welcome Jacob.
erin-cilberto,
"a rare currency" This one was a difficult one for me.
"A reserve of intense pension" Why must we retain the dead things in a place or a pension? How many do this? It is so destructive. Maybe we feel we are in control if we nurse old loss.
"Then turn around and walk out of another relationship just as broke as before. My hope is that we as human souls recognize the different places we are at and give a little tenderness, understanding and a listening ear to another person's reality.
Thanks for this wonderful, honest portrayal of this aspect of the human condition.
Blessings,
Kathy


Posted 6 Years Ago


Kathy Van Kurin

6 Years Ago

You are very welcome!
jacob erin-cilberto

6 Years Ago

and thank you for bringing this one back to board----
Kathy Van Kurin

6 Years Ago

Our inner essence matters, the building block of what we process often times in layers of pain, grow.. read more
great metaphor...

but we can still find solace on account of the fact that

we are all just a little richer for having received the gift of your poetry

Posted 8 Years Ago


jacob erin-cilberto

8 Years Ago

you are kind, thank you, rubie.

j.
Well if it takes a new infusion of currency I'll write you a huge check just so I can keep reading your poetry.

There is a "Never Ending" quality to your pen and ink.

Regards,
Al

Posted 8 Years Ago


jacob erin-cilberto

8 Years Ago

thank you for your kind words,
j.
Awww. ...and then the malfunctioning ATMs and recorded messages about overdrafts, payments due, let me sell you more of the same....:)

Thank you for the smile. I am a little less broke.

Posted 8 Years Ago


jacob erin-cilberto

8 Years Ago

and your response gave me a smile back, thank you for that,
j.
Id buy a poor man 's heart than a rich man's pride any day:)

Posted 8 Years Ago


jacob erin-cilberto

8 Years Ago

ah i like that.

thank you, Queenie...

j.

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Added on August 4, 2015
Last Updated on August 4, 2015

Author

jacob erin-cilberto
jacob erin-cilberto

Carbondale, IL



About
Originally from Bronx, NY, I live in Carbondale, Illinois...teach English at a community college and have been writing and publishing poetry since 1970. I am here to read for inspiration from other po.. more..

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