Witnesses Wanted

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

Where was I last Thursday at 7:15 p.m.?
Took me a while to remember,
but I’m pretty sure I was just about to leave the house
or walking outside to my car.

Sirens?
I don’t recall.
And I don’t remember what I had for dinner.

The sign at the corner of Bumby and South reads

“Help: Looking for witnesses to a motorcycle
accident that happened Thurs at 7:15 p.m.”

It said some other stuff too
but I couldn’t make it out
and I wouldn’t be any help anyhow.

But someone was there
someone was thrown.
I’m not sure if anyone was watching,
but at least two people were there:
the batter and the ball.

But I had not requested an invite
and wasn’t on the guest list for that instant
so I missed it.
I was in the parking lot scalping tickets
to another event.

Where was I Thursday, April 22nd, at 7:15 p.m.?
Not airborne over the thunderclap of metal on metal,
previously straddling a motorcycle.

Not driving an ambulance
bending around tight turns
or in the back of an ambulance
keeping a gurney warm.

Not wide-eyed,
frozen solid to a steering wheel thinking,
“Oh my god, what have I done?”