Brian Eckert

Writer. Wanderer. Dreamer. Skeptic. Man.

Autumn in the San Juan Mountains

Island Lake

Ice Lake

Engineer Mountain

Animas City Mountain

The Relapse

The old man is sitting on the back patio in his bathrobe, a half-empty bottle of wine in front of him.

He holds the stem between forefinger and thumb and swirls the wine around in the glass. He sniffs deeply of the blood red liquid, takes a sip, and lets the wine linger in his mouth before swallowing.

“Ahhh,” he says. “Good tannins. A bit sweet, but also dry. Wonderful dark color. Malbec is an interesting grape. It thrives in very particular growing conditions. The best Malbec is grown in the area around Mendoza, Argentina.”

“I thought you didn’t drink,” I say.

“I didn’t. Until right now, I hadn’t had a drink in 20 years. But I said to myself, you know what, why the fuck not? You have so little to look forward to as you get older. Why the fuck not?”

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“I will broomstick you”

The Sea and the Old Man

“Before outside contact, New Guinean highlanders spent their entire lives within a few miles of their villages, and as far as we know, none had ever seen the sea, which was just 100 miles away. It seems likely the whole world was like this in prehistory.”

-Jared Diamond

I ask the old man if I can borrow his car to drive to the coast.

“No,” he says. But he will drive me.

The old man used to travel the world selling wine.

“Did you enjoy travel?” I ask him. “I’d like to travel more.”

“Don’t bother,” he says. “Most places are terrible.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to India.”

“The people shit in the streets in India.”

“What about China?”

“In China it’s just the children who shit in the streets. Did you know that in China they fertilize with human shit? Well let me tell you, you learn that the hard way.”

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Cairns

Laws of Physics

Roger knocked on the door. Yvette answered wearing a bathrobe.

“Hi love,” she said, turning her head to the side for a European-style double cheek kiss.

Roger hated the Euro-kiss. Yvette had picked it up from a new French friend. He took solace in the fact that the Euro-kiss phase would pass, like every other phase before it: the cat-eye makeup phase, the barefoot running phase, the tarot card phase, the feminist literature phase, the vegetarian activist phase.

This too shall pass.

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Treefolk

Silverton, Colorado

Wolf Creek Pass

Mesa Verde

Durango, Colorado

Four Corners

Grand Canyon

Vegas, Baby

The Road

Mount Shasta

Redwoods

Rhubarb

Pre’s Trail

The Globalist

The Globalist puts arsenic in your tea and lead in your pencil.

The Globalist rounds up infants at night and returns them with chips in their heads.

The Globalist has always been at war with you.

 

The Globalist tells you no; you may not have your steel belted radials, now either go off and die or lend a hand with this circus tent.

The Globalist knows you will come to love him, as he once did.

God damn the Globalist for not making me an offer.

Oh Boy, It’s Raining Again

In the Pacific Northwest

you can get quite depressed

in winter, with its clouds and its rain.

Sure, the plants are all green

but what does that mean

when you’re slowly going insane?

 

The locals don’t mind

the lack of sunshine

it sure beats the snow, they insist.

But at least when its cold

there’s not all this mold

growing up out of the mist.

 

A queer little breed,

these Northwesterners, indeed

between them and the world, a cloud buffer.

They say they don’t mind it

but most folks, I’m reminded

find it harder to change than to suffer.

 

The rain does bring flowers

and sometimes, mid-shower

I venture out into the fray.

Be still, cabin fever!

Soon enough, I will leave here.

Let me make what damp joy I may.

 

Splitter splat

on my PVC hat,

the rain seeping through to my shirt.

Quack,

says a duck, a most unfortunate fuck

who makes his home in the dirt.

 

Dribble drabble plop

the rain it won’t stop.

It’s turning the folks into shrooms.

But oh, they don’t care,

with their recirculated air,

pleasuring themselves in their rooms.

 

Later on in the year, just like that

clouds will clear.

By then, I should be on my way.

Sentimental and sad, I’ll swear,

winter wasn’t so bad.

Perhaps for a bit longer I’ll stay.