The Wanker
How did I come to write THE WANKER. The truth of the matter is that I never really know how I come to write anything. I’m not compulsive about writing. I only write if something comes to me. Like most of my heroes, Estes Eucher came to me fully formed. Here was a man, in his fifties, who lost his job and in no way could find another. So instead he tries to find himself. Through poetry. Bad poetry.
I will admit to laughing my way through this book. I loved the interplay between Estes and his perhaps psychopathic friend Jeff Knellings. They were such fun to be with. Plus, it was nice to see how Estes developed as a person outside the corporate world, of which his wife was still a part. And, boy, did she have troubles of her own to deal with, aside from now financially supporting the family, with one child in college and the other getting ready to go to college.
Let’s face it. This is not an unfamiliar story in American life, where people in their fifties are relegated to the trash heap by corporate America at the time when they need to be productive financially, with house payments and college educations for their children. Perhaps, looking back, this situation was my inspiration for Estes Eucher. Especially now in current conditions, we know what losing a pay check feels like, how draining it can be.
But THE WANKER is not a downer. It’s a place to be happy. And what made me happiest about writing it was the poetry. Who doesn’t love a bad poem? I relish them, especially if I’m writing them. Here’s one of my favorites:
Fat Thighs
Why do people despise
Fat thighs?
They are sturdy pillars of the Colossus
Holding up the body brilliant
Blow wind, the thunder roars
The Colossus stands erect
Nature cannot say nay to
Fat thighs
What are they good for
You plebeians ask
With your gluten-free diets
And your shapers and toners
Make love with fat thighs
They wrap around you with delight
No razor sharp bones to distract you
Surround yourself with pillows of ecstasy
Alone, deserted, fearing death from starvation?
Whip out your Girl Scout knife and
Plunge into those fat thighs of yours
You are your own salvation.
Okay, this poetic attempt isn’t as bad as some of them, like Grace writing about dirty blinds. But you get the idea. For Estes’s poetry group, a thought comes into their heads, they write about it, water main breaks, rock throwing, friendship, love, it’s all there in THE WANKER. I hope you’ll read it and relish it as much as I relished writing it. sion? No, sorry, I don’t watch it during the day. It’s a time waster. Unlike solitaire. Music? If I had music playing, how could I hear the music of the sphere, i.e., my birds? Sigh. I guess it’s just one of those days.
