Tuesday, October 03, 2017
Dump
Her dump of Harold was now fully in effect.
They were to speak, of course, but only
in softly polite generalities.
Brenda saw him at the Little League Parade,
and both merged moderately sunny hellos.
Then an old woman fell into the path of
the Crestview Drum and Bugle Corps.
Bugsy, bass drummer and joker, gave the
incident his loudest thump!
Then, more staccato ones as his colleagues
disarrayed.
Harold plucked her back through all this
stumbling and random toots.
To the bleachers, where he cleaned her
face with tissues. Finally, stroked her hair.
Voice light as his touch.
“Goddammit all to hell!” sobbed Brenda,
“Why are you so good? You’re always
so fuckin...!”
Labels: accident, breakup, caring, Charity, Little League, love, Music, nice, old, parade
Thursday, December 10, 2015
Symbols and Goals
Mayor shakes the canister of coins on his desk.
For Little League, but I get the drift .
I’m to meet with those proposing a bridge,
then a competing tunnel bunch.
The tubal legation understood better.
Labels: aide, bridge, construction politics, Little League, mayor, tunnel
Sunday, November 30, 2014
u may know some
Neighborhood Association
Bixxy projected what was on his iPad. Rectangular map filled
in with images of association parties, mostly happy
or snarling children.
Then, suddenly, red blotches equidistant along the edge!
“These represent families of demons,” he stated.
“But, how can you tell? What do they DO?” asked Mary Detzy Hope.
“Right now, just routiney demony things. Early stage, thus
this meeting.”
“Thank God I didn’t marry you! Another flatly awful
answer!”
“I don’t understand. We never even went out.”
“I keep a list.”
“Run the meeting, Bixxy! Cut all blabber short!”--
from Old Man Coakly.
“Including yours?” smiled sweetly Mary.
“The...next slide will answer most questions.”
And the next and next, until all groaned.
Lort Harrell piped up finally. “Thirty-seven ways to
identify demons? I’d be fired in the Ad Business!
Boil it down to five bullet points!”
“I will! This is a preliminary meeting.”
Mr and Mrs Oglesy spoke in one voice, but sort of
dopplerian. “We go by these homes! Bicycles in
the driveways, kids playing catch, our neighborhood
minibus picking them up for Little League.”
“All just cover. They’re demons!”
“Don’t forget the parents!” added Coakly to the couple.
“Breaking their ass for the American Dream!”
Although meetings usually broke up in chaos,
this one made a plan. Spies appointed to watch
each family, taking pictures with cell phones.
Supposed to bring evidence to the next
meeting but, Mary reminded, that’s in
July and there’s not enough time to handle
this and The Fourth of July Picnic and Baby
Parade. And, especially, the crowning of
Little Miss Delco Heights.
So, August appointed to get to the demonological
bottom of things.
“Be hot as hell!” Coakly recollected.
Labels: American Dream, demon, Little League, neighborhood, neighborhood activities, neighborhood association
Monday, June 03, 2013
Various Names
“St-r-o-”
“You're correct there, old chap.”
“k-k-k.”
“Yes, a stroke. Don't say anymore. I know what
to do,” Nigel reassured. He was on a kind of
sabbatical from Queens College Hospital, London.
Jiffy Cripps, the driver, yelled after a half hour,
"I'm almost stuck here. Creeping! They think our
siren and lights are for the Little League kids--
they won the State and are going to Williamsport.”
“I imagine that's good then?”
“Where you been?”
“England.”
“Why in hell did you come here?”
“For a woman. What else?”
“I'll get the fire guys on the radio. They'll
clear a path for us.”
“Don't bother now. He's gone.”
“That’s above your pay grade to say that.”
“Perhaps, but I am actually a physician.”
“So you went a notch or two down to come
here, right?”
“Of course! Transatlantic Idiot! you glimpse
before you.”
“Just who is this wom...?"
“Celeste Broadworth.”
“Oh yeah? That's some family! The old man shot
dead a Chinese guy in bed with wifey.”
“Really must inquire of Celeste, if ever again we...!
This traffic!”
“Well, never was a bigger story around here.”
Unknown, of course, to both, Ripper Broadworth
was also threading his way through the celebration.
In a Mercedes, having been pardoned that morning.
Jif started absently singing some old thing from
The Stones. His mother had wrestled under the name
Darlyne Dire.
“St-r-o-”
“You're correct there, old chap.”
“k-k-k.”
“Yes, a stroke. Don't say anymore. I know what
to do,” Nigel reassured. He was on a kind of
sabbatical from Queens College Hospital, London.
Jiffy Cripps, the driver, yelled after a half hour,
"I'm almost stuck here. Creeping! They think our
siren and lights are for the Little League kids--
they won the State and are going to Williamsport.”
“I imagine that's good then?”
“Where you been?”
“England.”
“Why in hell did you come here?”
“For a woman. What else?”
“I'll get the fire guys on the radio. They'll
clear a path for us.”
“Don't bother now. He's gone.”
“That’s above your pay grade to say that.”
“Perhaps, but I am actually a physician.”
“So you went a notch or two down to come
here, right?”
“Of course! Transatlantic Idiot! you glimpse
before you.”
“Just who is this wom...?"
“Celeste Broadworth.”
“Oh yeah? That's some family! The old man shot
dead a Chinese guy in bed with wifey.”
“Really must inquire of Celeste, if ever again we...!
This traffic!”
“Well, never was a bigger story around here.”
Unknown, of course, to both, Ripper Broadworth
was also threading his way through the celebration.
In a Mercedes, having been pardoned that morning.
Jif started absently singing some old thing from
The Stones. His mother had wrestled under the name
Darlyne Dire.
Labels: death, emergency, English, infidelity, Little League, murder, Stones, traffic
