Thursday, After Dark    

by Jen Schneider

 
The next time you fancy a walk, you could be joined by Ed Sheeran. He’s teamed up with Peloton to create an exclusive audio collaboration for a new series of Outdoor Walks. Each episode, which will also feature Peloton Instructors Jon Hosking or Germany's Tobias Heinze, features music from his new album and connected, immersive and intimate storytelling.
 
The same day Peloton announces a recall,
a recall of over 2.2 million exercise bikes
 
Ed Sheeren announces a Peloton partnership,
the same week he wins a suit for
copyright infringement
 
and I think, where do they find
the energy
and why would I want to walk,
to walk with Ed Sheeran 
 
I’d much rather listen to him sing --
or stream Marvin Gaye tunes
and debate just how similar (or not)
the overall experience
of “Thinking Out Loud” is to “Let’s Get It On”
 
in a solitary (s)pace
 
As I sit, and think,
my husband texts --
 
             Check IT Out
             three houses to the left
 
I text back --
 
             What’s IT?
 
He sends a picture,
along with descriptive text --
 
             Strong.
             Outdoor friendly.
             Durable.
             Waterproof.
             Rust-free.
             Free to take.
             No questions asked.  
 
If I were still in the market
for a love-match this might be it.
 
It’s a five-tier something.
 
Perhaps a shelf.
Perhaps another discarded story.
 
I lace up my New Balance and 
take the walk experts highly recommend.
 
Coincidentally, it’s May, the National
Month for Walking
 
I circle the block five times, like the hawks overhead,
evaluate the degree to which I am hungry, and assess
if the prey is to my liking             
 
Each loop another chance
to (re)imagine the offering
of walking --
 
I’d been in the market for a new hobby.
 
Maybe I’d pick up gardening and stock
clay pots full of cacti and other things
that don’t require much water to breathe. 
 
Or maybe I’d use it to store
drafts of my works-in-progress
 
Only the shelves have neither character nor backbones.
That can’t be a good influence on plot or conflict resolution. 
 
Friends suggest cross stitch or pottery.
Colleagues recommend crochet and knitting.
It’s fun with a purpose, they say.
Plus, you can still watch TV
alongside Ed.

I watch the bait,
careful to anticipate
anyone else approaching.
 
as Ed offers moody ballads,
tonics for misery and memory,
Succession, The Last of Us, and Ted Lasso
are visual reminders that we all face mortality,
and to push seasons beyond their natural life
is usually unbecoming. 
 
I could use it to
 
             collect dishes,
             secure binoculars,
             store bird feed
 
But I won’t –
 
Frog and Toad’s vibe
much more to my liking
 
Fuck it, I say. Who am I kidding?
I’m as depleted as I’ve ever been. 
 
Ed’s songs on my mind --
I write emails and can’t even
hit delete once I know
I won’t click send.
 
Digital graveyards as real
as the plotted and potted variety,
I take a closer look
and greet my reflection
under the moonlit sky.
 
Two outdated structures
looking for their next gig.
 
A ladybug crawls along one edge
A moth hovers in a far corner.
Its joints are rusted
A familiar fate.
I contemplate, then think
of my grandmother and the text
I received just after she took her last breath.
 
The message documented the time and place
as if that might change things
 
Her hip went first,
then her heart.
 
Walking had been her link,
to happiness
 
She’d scour the town’s flea markets most weekends
became an expert in curbside negotiations.
 
Until all joints rusted
and balance could no longer be trusted.
 
I wonder what she might of thought
of the Ed Sheeran and Peloton
partnership. 
 
She started to speak ill of most things --
 
One evening she told my offspring to fuck it.
 
“Fuck it all,” she said.
 
“Life’s a bitch in the end anyway.”
 
On the day we buried her
I learned that there are many forms
of recycling.
 
Stories of youth. Supersized.
Prized recipes. In locked diaries.
Bare soles on scalding concrete.
A baby born with a husband overseas.
Nazis in Germany. Holdups in fish markets.
Mattress on the floor of second-floor apartments.
Early morning eclairs from downstairs bakeries.
 
A great aunt scoffed,
displeased at the rabbi’s retelling.
 
For the graveside funeral,
the cemetery entrance had a sign.
 
             Turn right for the 9 am.
             Hang left for the noon double. 
 
Only it’s night and I still have work to do.
 
My grandmother was a fan of vodka at noon, with double ice.
 
“Rainbow bridge bullshit,” she said when her husband of fifty years passed.
 
“That’s it. That’s the end.”
 
“The end of what?” my toddler asked,
followed by, “Can I have more juice?”
 
“You betcha,” she said. “Apple or tomato?
Both keep things running.”
 
Now, the town picks up,
picks up anything within reason though the website
fine print clarifies that items over fifty pounds cost an extra ten dollars
 
I focus on the object.
 
Like a teacher whose name I can’t remember once instructed.
 
The third shelf is sagging, I think.
 
Imperfections magnified under the microscope,
the microscope of computer-strained eyes 
 
Like the funnel (or tunnel) of falsehoods on which I was raised.
 
             Bologna tastes better on wheat
             Diets secure destiny
             Bikinis are sweeter rewards than baked goods
             Pluto is a planet and planets belong to all mankind
             Contradictions in real time
 
Each Friday at dawn,
at dawn in the small pockets of air
between Here and There, Then and Now,
the garbage truck makes its rounds.
 
I let the five-story shelf be,
don’t need anything else
to clean or care for 
 

I suspect my husband knew,
knew all along.
 
He texts –
 
             What do you think?
 
Or is it Ed Sheeran calling.
 
             I don’t reply


* * * * *

Jen Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. Her most recent collection, 14 (Plus) Reasons Why published with free lines press, is now available.