Danny, Frank and The Sinkhole, A Poem by Chris Russell

There was a hole in the world the size of Kentucky. I stood on the edge if it and looked down. “It’s like the Grand Canyon, only softer,” I said. “You’ve never been to the Grand Canyon, Danny,” Frank said. He got down on his butt and hung his legs over the edge. “Yeah, but I’ve seen pictures,” I said. Oh, and pictures tell the whole truth, do they?” He said. “They tell enough of it,” I said. “That’s funny to me. If anything, the pictures convey what you want them to convey, reflect a kind of want, convey something you have yet to have and may never have.” he said. “That’s very true,” I said. “It’s about as true as anything is,” he said. “Who really knows, right?” I said. “If it feels right, go with it,” he said. We looked across the sinkhole for an hour or more and it was starting to get dark. “How many people do you think lost their lives when this thing fell in?” I said. “Too many to mention,” he said. I threw a rock down into the canyon. “Did you hear it land?” I said. “No, I didn’t hear it land,” he said. “I could push you over the edge right now and nobody would ever find you,” I said. “You’ve always had my best interests in mind,” he said. Maybe there is an oubliette down there somewhere underneath some of the rubble, where we could sit and look down to the center of the earth,” I said. “You’ll never be short on Imagination, Dan. Even if one of these things were to swallow you up, something tells me you’d survive just because you’d be able to see a way out someone with less imagination would never see,” he said. “I appreciate that,” I said. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Being imaginative and intuitive the way that you are should be put to good use if you want my opinion.” “If only you had been my employer,” I said. “Yeah, I don’t know what I would have asked you to do for me, but I would have hired you nevertheless. Maybe as some sort of a marketing or design consultant,” he said. “I like that we can talk about our lives like they’re over,” I said. “It’s why we’ve remained friends for all these years,” he said. I held up my peach Snapple bottle. “To the end of our lives, never realizing our full potential, and burning out,” I said. “To being chronically unfulfilled, becoming a walking heart attack and living in a world where imagination has fallen in on itself and died,” he said. We threw our bodies down the side of the canyon, and started walking back to the car. All wasn’t right with the world. But we still had each other. “You should have seen your body bounce down the side,” I said. “I didn’t know a body could sound like that. It was like the sound of water breaking or something.” “It was unexpected. And you should have seen yours. Yours got all twisted around and then uncoiled like a wet towel, making a sound like lightning,” he said. “You’ll poke somebody’s eye out like that,” I said. “It’s all fun and games till someone gets hurt,” he said. I put my arm around my friend. Everything was going to be all right. Just different.

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