Mindfucking Roundabouts of Carmel, Indiana: Poems and Short Prose

By Dan Grossman

Dan Grossman's collection of poetry and short prose 'Mindfucking Roundabouts of Carmel, Indiana,' is, in part, a meditation on memory that alternates between love and regret. It pierces the space-time continuum by way of the world-famous Carmel roundabouts to reach a state of peace and acceptance with the world as it is. It contains love poetry both tender and perverse, fever-dream narratives of Uber driving, topical takes on the Greater Indianapolis area and its art scene, meditations on family life, and explorations of Jewish identity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781387896813

Book preview

COPYRIGHT PAGE

Copyright © 2022 by Dan Grossman

All Rights Reserved

978-387-89681-3

Imprint: Lulu.com

All photos by Dan Grossman

Questions? Comments? Contact the author at [e-mail]

DEDICATION PAGE

This book is dedicated to my family, to my friends and teachers who encouraged me in my writing, and to Mayor Jim Brainard, who brought more roundabouts (traffic circles) to Carmel, Indiana than to any other city in the United States. The roundabouts, loathed by some, loved by others, provided inspiration for this book, in a roundabout way of course.

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Morning Sun sculpture by Brad Howe on South Rangeline Rd.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Artifacts was published in Poetica.  Triple was published in InPosse (2004) Israeli Travelog was published in Bathtub Gin (2002) Mindfucking Roundabouts of Carmel, Indiana, Hoosier Poet comes to White Castle and Cruising on Mass Ave were published in NUVO (2020-2021); Soldiers and Sailors Monument was published in The Indianapolis Anthology (2021); Portnoy’s Complaint, Space Jews, and Israel/Palestine at the Children’s Museum were published in Indy Correspondent (2021), I Love You, Untitled, and Gulf were published in Kilohertz Country, published by Geekspeek Unique Press(1999). Triple, 9/11 Dream, and South Shore Line were published in pLopLop. Drinking with the Rusians, Back Home in Indiana, and Isis Bucket Challenge Dream were published by Punchnel’s (2013-2016). I Love You and Yahweh at Goodwill were published in ArLiJo (2022) Untitled and Triple were published in Trash Sandwich (2022). Van Gogh at The LUME was published in The Indianapolis Review. (2022)

MINDFUCKING ROUNDABOUTS: THE POEMS AND SHORT PROSE

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Photo of roundabouts on Old Meridian Street in Carmel, Indiana near US 31.

Mindfucking Roundabouts of Carmel, Indiana

I’m driving my daughter around a roundabout, the first of six near the US 31 and Old Meridian St. interchange. I'm telling her about the first black hole ever photographed, 55 million light years away from Earth. In the center of that black hole, wider than our solar system, is a singularity: infinitely dense and infinitely small. But the singularity at the center of this roundabout is the pull of regret. And it pulls me in, through a wormhole into an alternate universe where instead of working in a bookstore for a decade after my Peace Corps service I win a fellowship to study Arabic at Cairo University. Immediately after graduation, I’m hired by the Cairo bureau at The New York Times. I report from all over the Middle East. During the Iraq War, I have two close calls with IEDs. The second one lands me in the hospital with a concussion. I fall in love with the nurse, Sasha Selim. Sasha’s into kabbalah, kink, and early Madonna. We marry and buy a flat in London. Against the advice of our Kabbalah Centre rabbi, I accept an assignment in Syria just after discovering that Sasha is pregnant with twins. Stationed in Damascus, I score two interviews, arranged by my bodyguard, with commanders in the Syrian opposition. The resulting features make the front page. But the third interview that he arranges isn’t with the rebels like he says. It’s with ISIS. They put me in an orange jumpsuit, in front of a green screen. My rabbi’s advice is ringing in my ears as my head, spurting arterial blood, is severed from my body. Just as the lights fade, I make the third turn-off onto Old Meridian. We fly by St. Vincent Hospital at a wicked clip. It occurs to me, as my daughter shoots me a startled glance, that I live a pretty good life.

Holcomb Gardens Redux

As we walked the canal towpath, we kept

our distance because of COVID. Your red coat

stretched 50 miles behind us.

You were a queen in your former life, you said.

We passed Holcomb Gardens with its Alice

in Wonderland hedges. I’d be your King

of Hearts, I said. I didn’t mention taking

my ex to those hedges before we married.

I didn’t mention how we groped each other,

how the Mad Hatter shouted Get a room.

We not only got a room but bought a house

and raised a child before everything exploded

and tumbled down like a house of cards.

Best not to bring this up, I thought, on a first date.

Self-Portrait at Five

A man in Army uniform, on crutches,

looks up at me from the Cornell Med Center

entrance as I drop Tinker Toys

from the apartment window. My dad

finds them on the sidewalk while walking back 

from the hospital after a 12-hour shift. 

As he walks through the door, I run to him

begging him to take me to the Museum,

to see the bones of T-Rex and friends.

The dinosaurs gallop through the Time-Life book

The World We Live In: I flip through the pages

way too quickly, ripping them.

Sometimes I tape my drawings of T-Rex over my bed.

Other times I install spaceship windows

with a view of Jupiter and Saturn.

I’ve become aware of my mom’s silences. 

At the Central Park playground

the quiet pulses through her like a tide.   

My dreams are loud. Cookie Monster keeps pace

beside me as we run towards Big Bird

who stands outside time. Hot on my heels:

Oscar the Grouch. When I wake up

my parents are shouting at each other. 

I raise the white flag between them

and they retreat into their own inner spaces.

Meanwhile, in the Sinai and the Golan,

shells explode in the Yom Kippur dawn.

My Father’s Stamp Collection

The women who licked the Polish stamps

were gassed in Auschwitz.

Israel canceled Palestine

just as their last stamps were canceled.

Algeria threw out the French

along with their cafes and croissants.

Around that