the blameless one

It’s true that legends    
heroes    
comic-book characters    
walk among us    
un-noticed  
   
   
   
me and my mate Arnie    
son of a Norwegian fisherman    
big raw twitchy motherfucker    
angular and fatless    
pigeon chested    
with a fast-moving fast-thinking look in his eyes    
that would mark him as a coke fiend    
on any cop show you've seen  
with his powerful-strong limbs    
like some orange ape;  
lanky-loose and capable of removing things    
from things    
   
so one weekend    
us young men    
we went road-tripping into the hills    
looking for love    
or whatever    
   
got to drinking in a back-country pub    
full of local boys
   
hillbilly shit and lovin’ it    
   
there was one bloke who decided that Arnie is a mug    
starts needling him over the pool table    
needle needle needle    
weasling    
making himself feel big    
but Arnie was smart enough to know about numbers    
when they weren’t on his side    
so nothing happened  
and the night rolled on    
   
then later  
in true hillbilly fashion  
the pub lights    
started to struggle;    
its generator    
blacking blinking out    
for seconds at a time    
   
if you listened you could hear it happen    
the engine revs would drop    
then a clunk as the breaker tripped    
leaving us in darkness  
then a few seconds to come right    
while we stood still to wait    
   
and the bloke kept working on Arnie    
needle needle needle    
   
Arnie      
waited   
   

about midnight    
drunk enough for daring-do    
Arnie gets a look in his eye;  
a hot spark like a magpie has  
and for no reason I could tell    
walks across the emptying bar    
to stand away from everyone    
waits    
staring at the wall    
looking at the faded sports photos    
back turned  to us   
   
   
the revs on the generator drop    

that clunk noise   

power goes out    

then a loud 'thwack'    
a scrape of chairs    
a quieter heavy dull thud    
and lights back on  
   
Arnie was still where he stood    
and across the bar    
the weasel lay
laid out    
like a sack of wet shit    
   
bartender looks around    
looks down    
sees the bloke layin' there    
looks over at Arnie standing miles away    
does the maths in his head    
figures it can’t have been him    
and we drank on;  
harmless young men    
living our lives    
   
I waited a while    
slid over to Arnie    
said “how the fuck did you do that?”    
Arnie smiled his favourite smile    
the blessed one    
the blameless one    
“look”    
and he nodded toward where I should start  
to see a glass ashtray    
heavy and solid    
lying under a chair    
   
I nodded back  
   
when Arnie and I were at school    
he pitched ball for the best teams    
and truth be told straight    
he was always pretty deadly    
at the turn and toss  
   
   
   
you have to love a man  
that good