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This writing is publishe in the July 2010 issue
of cc&d magazine.

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3.4 Mantra

Charlie Newman

your children render you obsolete
repeat after me: my children render me obsolete
engrave it on your heart: my children render me obsolete
remember it like September 11: my children render me obsolete
take it like your daily dose of prozac: my children render me obsolete
in spite of the fact that between us, you and me, there is a secret that will remain a secret for a while: my
children render me obsolete
even though I know myself and every piece of baggage I haul around with obvious pride on my hopefully
one-way trip uptown: my children render me obsolete
walking on water as the sunrise kisses my nakedness to buffer the shock of recognition that comes with
the light: my children render me obsolete
I carry what needs carrying and hold my voice this time and that, as needed, and stop to smell the rusty
roses no matter who or how many look at me strangely and still: my children render me obsolete
the howling man on the corner nods “yes,” “yes,” “a thousand times, yes” teaching me his burning song
while I break my mental back trying to think of something—ANYTHING!—that will prove my love and
earn me a place by the right hand of the Lord before I have to hit the road chanting: my children render
me obsolete
you let me in and wonder where I’ve been and how I dream my dreams and how, in the name of all that’s
good, joy leaps from my heart: my children render me obsolete
ask if I remember my history, my pilgrim’s progress and wonder how much further I can go now that: my
children render me obsolete
after the fall, the long fall, the sure fall, the predicted fall, the fall that awaits us all, I appeal to be
awakened even though I am bruised and I am battered and I am bloodied and my journey enters it’s
endgame with the cold efficiency of a ticking clock, a pointing compass, stars crossing the night sky in
the veiled face of God and you ask me if: my children render me obsolete
I am my father’s son and so it is not easy to surrender, I am my mother’s son and so it is not easy to
surrender, I am as far as my family has come...except...except for my children and the one truth they
thrive on like locust in wheat fields: my children render me obsolete
my children render me obsolete
children render me obsolete
render me obsolete
ME!
obsolete



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