Johnny Cake

Books by authors Kafka, Hermann Hesse, and Miller,

Lay on his desk next to the computer

They defined his loneliness

He'd often come into our office on some business or another

Always with a greeting and never without a smile

He was gracious

Though when I first met him

I thought: A rogue male in old tennis shoes

He told me he was a writer

And then he withdrew

Someone must have repeated something someone else had said

And by the time it reached his ear

It had lost its character

He was afraid we'd see something in his soul

He could not see himself

Something that haunted him at the edge of his awareness

But he was gracious

He had a bachelor’s degree in English at forty-seven

And when it didn't fill him

He thought that maybe she could

Brown curly hair, milk white skin, lovely legs

And in need at twenty-three, with a baby girl at home and no daddy

At lunch, I'd sometimes watch him outside the office window

Looking under the hood of her hammered truck

--the car defined her vulnerability

Three months later she moved in with him

He thought she loved him

But all she wanted was some time off and free rent

Then at Christmas he was gone

When I asked where he was

I was told he was no longer with us

Later I learned he'd driven up Frenchman's Mountain

Put a hose in the exhaust pipe of his truck

Ran it into the cab where he was sitting

And wept his emptiness up

Until he had nothing left inside him

I wondered what had become of his books

Dry pages of words that were a poor defense

Against disaster

I cried for him

And remembered

His wit

His kindness

His impenetrability

His new shoes after he met her.