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Union Station Eulogy

from Perfect Sleeping Weather by Larry Fulford

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    Scrawled into notebooks from the familiar comforts of temporary homes and the passenger seats of mechanically unsound vehicles adrift on the highways and back roads of America, Perfect Sleeping Weather is fifteen years of thoughts, observations, facts, and fictions hammered into a collection of poetry that, according to one reader, "sounds like a sigh."

    In this, his first book, writer/drummer/comedian Larry Fulford reflects on the usual -- life, death, love and leaving -- while still managing to name-check Van Halen. Twice.

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lyrics

I charted two courses:
one to get his book out of my truck
and one back to the truck to get mine.

Same course.
Never mind.

My boss is a part-time racist
for the sake of a punchline.
But the caretakers of the Well’s Built Museum
aren’t laughing
or reloading
despite the myth.

In the middle of a night that bloomed
where bad dreams usually do —

at the tail-end of sleep, so you have to
remember every last, gory detail
all day at work,
even when you’re standing in front
of the mirror in the Men’s Room
unable to recognize who you’ve become;
splicing the similarities between yourself
and part-time racists
and plump, jovial careerists
like tiny atoms capable of catastrophes —

the fan my mom gave me stood guard
against stagnant air
and the hair of the lawn grew.

If God ever had time to donate to voiceovers,
here’s where He would say,
“Alison Krauss and Union Station
played their sweet little hearts out
to the deaf ears of a stubborn, aspiring sleeper.”

On point and undistracted.
Awake only to move the heavy, water-soaked clothes
from the washer to the dryer.

Just a 401K away from office laughs at unfunny jokes
and company parties with,
“Hello, my name is” stickers on my coat.
Lunch dates and people who hate you out of earshot.

Just a 401K away from standing in the shower
too long and melting but needing the flood,
as hot as you can stand it, to remind you that
you’re still alive,
though now your palms are pruney.

The fish in this bowl have started
to grow human hands exclusively
to strangle themselves with.
Our parents’ fuck ups
are catching up to us.

credits

from Perfect Sleeping Weather, released January 1, 2021

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Larry Fulford Florida

Larry Fulford is a writer and comedian and used to play a bunch of drums.

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