I read them to him in the cafe coffee shop, with its foggy windows and crumbs of doughnuts on the ground; ringed stains on the tables; and the occasional late night buyers who couldn't resist the sweets, or the coffee to stay up working on their bills, or other projects... who knows.
But here are the words, or poems, or whatever we call them, I thought I would share. I wrote them a week ago not knowing that they would be for Richard, but it was he who said that he wanted a copy of them because he said it spoke to his life; for some reason it did, I don't know how; for some reason I felt the inclination to read them to him there in that shop.
I called this poem "Captain" because Richard always wears a hat, a Captain hat. The town has sort of nicknamed Richard "Captain".
Captain
We are sometimes lumps and maybe
Sometimes luminous with some thought
In us – we become Seamen at
Sea, that Cargo ship, we wish to
Hop on like it be a Freight Train
With graffiti reading Escape,
Shrimp boat it be?
Wish to join a séance? A search? A scuba? Are we scrupulous or do our clothes hang off like maladjusted robes, the wind blowing all of us away – left naked in our world?
Painted Sleeve
Painted people.
Emotionless people.
People of emotion.
All people.
Woman and man and baby.
Wrinkles and wines.
Wizards and destitute.
The environment and the
Environment
In a strange
Hopeful
Light.
Richard is all alone now, for his family; mother, father, brother and sister have all passed into the other world. His sister Arlene, the oldest of the family, died of cancer. His brother Jack died of an internal illness. Back in the day, when Richard wasn't homeless, he was in a band with his brother called "Country Ramblers". Jack played the base guitar, while Richard played the drums. Richard grew up listening to "Country Western, oldies but goodies" kind of music; he always carries around a radio with ear phones. He says he loves listening to the Beatles.
Richard dropped out of High School in the 9th grade; which is early, chasing women; working as a construction worker and at car washes; running away from home and then returning like the prodigal son. Only, I don't know if his father was there looking for him, running to Richard with compassion and rejoicing; I don't know - God only knows that.
He was once married in his younger years, but would divorce his wife because she was running around with other men: he let out a loud sigh when he told me that; she must still be in his mind, memory never fades, does it? He had a daughter with his wife, her name was Paula; Richard has no clue where she is and he isn't looking for her, neither is she looking for him.
This is Richard Paul Balandis. I made a drawing of him as he told me of himself and his life. I used vinal charcoal on a canvas, and will later paint over it, looking out of the cafe shop like an "Edward Hopper" scene. "Why do you paint him? School Assignment?" I was asked. All I could say was, "Because it was something I had to do this night, yes, that is why, and he is my friend."
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