"The MAG"

ALISTAIR MCHARG

Alistair McHarg is a father, poet, and novelist. He can be reached at alistair.mcharg@verizon.net.

McHarg has held various jobs. These include, but are not limited to; driving a truck back and forth across the continental divide, working as a deckhand on a Norwegian tramp freighter touring South America, fighting forest fires throughout Alaska for the Bureau of Land Management, driving a taxi cab in Philadelphia's grittiest neighborhoods, and guiding canoe trips throughout Northern Ontario for a well known wilderness survival camp. Since 1983 large corporations have been paying McHarg to arrange words.

Alistair's first full-length literary effort was a memoir completed in 1999. Invisible Driving chronicles his triumph over Manic Depression and is unique in that it offers readers a glimpse inside the world of Mania, recreating the experience through language. Beyond the pyrotechnics, outrageous behavior, and flamboyant wordplay is a poignant story of a man fighting the battle of his life, and becoming himself in the process.

Alistair's first novel, Moonlit Tours, was completed in 2001. Moonlit Tours is a dark comedy about three cab drivers who provide excursions into society's dark side to rich, jaded patrons. The book is inhabited by a broad spectrum of people who are essentially good but believe they can dabble in evil without becoming dirty themselves.

McHarg's second novel is Washed Up. Washed Up is an ensemble piece that is rich with primary and secondary characters. The story concerns four upper middle-class, middle-aged men who become friends in Alcoholics Anonymous. When one of the men has a relapse the ripple effect touches everyone and provides the catalyst for important change. Washed Up is a story of transformation and self-discovery.

All three of these works remain in manuscript form and can be spotted late at night trolling the alleys and cul-de-sacs in hopes of meeting up with a savvy literary agent.

In addition to writing, McHarg is also an avid entertainer. He's performed improvisational comedy for small and large venues alike and enjoys reading his poetry aloud, most recently as a featured participant at Philadelphia's Fringe Festival.

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REPO GIRL

Slipping through the gauzy film
That guards my luscious dreams
Repo girl is
Method, stealth, and focus
Weather beaten beauty Queen
Proprietress and owner
Of some unfilling station
And cafe
Rusting under desert starlight
Dying in the day
Gray and faded overalls
Hug her rugged body
Hold her like a tire grips a rim
Golden halo tucked below
A grimy tractor cap
Grips the nozzle
Of a pump and roughly
Shoves it in
To my heart

Bing, and the numbers
Paint on porcelain
Ride on gears with
Chipped teeth, in reverse
Chewing on a toothpick
Scratching her tattoo
She draws out all the love
And faith and trust that I
Have stolen

Bing, and the breath
Of an angel I’d forgotten
Almost before I’d had
My way with her
Passed like blood
Into the pump

Bing, for every candle night
Of gentle kindnesses
Bodies spread like landscapes
I could tread on
Conquer, exhaust, and abandon

Repo girl drinks joe and stares
Elbows on the counter
If she’d stayed a little more
Then I could have thanked her

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ENCORE

Thank you
Before the final number I'd like to introduce
The players in this fabulous band
As I call their names aloud and bring them back on stage
Please give them a generous hand

Comic Al Manipulating Puppets
Mister Vicious Egotistical
Mommy's Only Lonely Little Love Dream
Lounging Lizard Eager Testicle
Mystic Al Who's Of This World Or Isn't
One So Weak He Craves The Kiss Of Death Upon His Cheek
Canny Connoisseur The Cunning Linguist
Tropic Al Who Swashes All The Buckles and Galoshes
One Who Smolders Angry Like an Ember
Father-Healer-Gentleman-Creator-&-Destroyer
He Whose Madness Keeps the Wolves Awake
Smarmy & Disarming Smiling Unctuousness Of Me
Standing At The Microphone For Everyone To See
Ready? Hit it!

I am just a lowly pilgrim, no place is my home
Everything I own is up my sleeve
I showed up to do my job, I hope that this was it
Now it's time for me to take my leave

Thank you all for listening to my tattered tale
Take it home and try it on for size
If these rented words I use put some rhythm in your blues
Then what we've done together will last through heavy weather
And we'll always have each other to rely on

I am just a lowly pilgrim, no place is my home
Everything I own is up my sleeve
I showed up to do my job, I hope that this was it
Now it's time for me to take my leave

Thank you for your presence, thanks for your attention
Thank you for the use of the room
Thank you for your presence, thanks for your attention
Thank you for the use of the room
Goodnight everybody

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BAGGAGE

At the station words arrive
Like distant relatives
Trailing trains of
Luggage carts behind

Battered set of ancient tools
To practice my odd calling
Making names for what cannot
Be known

Humble as an artisan
I pick them up with care
And honor what we
Shall achieve together

But they refuse
To tell my tale
And tell me theirs
Instead

Where they come from
Where they've been
How they've bent with time
What they've meant to
Those now gone
The lips
They've danced upon

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THE FALLEN

In the days of glory war
My eyes were not yet open
When good men slaughtered
Bad men righteously

In a growling metal tube
My father stroked his mustache
As those who served him
Stared at wrinkled photos

Villains waiting on the ground
Counted off the mushrooms
Floating down so slowly and so
Easy to destroy, it seemed

Not so easy after all
Fallen heroes raining
Justice on the
Landscape's architecture

How I wish I'd been there
In those glory days of war
When good men slaughtered
Bad men righteously

Trusty little six-gun
Cowboy hat and boots
I'd have known which
Mushroom to select

I'd have squeezed
The trigger with
Dispassionate precision
I'd have picked him off
Before he ever hit the ground

Valor under fire would have
Cost me my first breath
Glory war is made of sacrifice
I'd have taken two lives
To protect the one she lost
To him, in the battles
On the home front

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SCARRED FOR LIFE

Ragged glory look at you
Shining in the lists
Dashing as the sun
Abandons heaven

Silence at the railroad station
Rusted tracks and weeds
The Kingdom Come Express
Is running late

Ragged glory look at you
Indifferent
Smiling through a wall of
Broken teeth at good and ill

--------

HEAT

Chilly in the moonlight
Of a nervous, troubled night
Gods of fire
Stole into the village

Break of day the rooster screeched
And danced on weeping blisters
Blue above glowed ghostly and
Exploded into cinders

Swollen clouds coughed majesties
Of hissing, molten dust
Struck the brittle blades of grass
Which crumbled into rust

Waves of empty heat hallucinations
Fled the cracked incendiary soil
Brains which only yesterday
Had rested in their pans
Now began to simmer, fry, and boil

Demons searched the potting shed for hatchets
Witches of the kitchen sharpened knives
Hour of the reckoning was gripped inside their fingers
Judgment Day and justice were at hand

Serenaded by the distant sound of
Lamentation
The Gods departed leaving only embers

"The genius of the method is the randomness"
Said one
"Power never used is but a word"
Another said
"Make sure they remember"
Came their leader's stern commandment
And down the road they went to meet the dead

--------

GOOD HOUSEKEEPING

Red house
Green house
Ware house
White House
Pump house
Poor house
Doll house
Light house
Bleak House
Block house
Bauhaus
Ale house
Ice house
Out house
Cat house
Jail house
Boat house
Toll house
Dog house
Chop house
Fun house
Court house
Bath house
Flop house

My house

Rust never sleeps
Neither does dirt
Time to get busy
With the indoor work

When it's done
It never is

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LATE FOR DINNER

Rustle in the underbrush
Predator of love
Lives on a diet of heart
Lithe and lovely carcasses
Bear his signature
Victims of his hunt
For the cure
To the hunger
That is eating him alive

Beggar holding battered cup
Leans against the temple
Heap of jagged silhouettes
And shadows
Crying out as colors crash
And race disjointedly

Humble servant
Washing windows
Sweeping off the steps
Making sure the house is
Clean and vacant
Sunlight warming wooden floors
Balmy breezes come and go
Like kisses from a very patient angel

m.a.g.