Thursday, July 07, 2016
The Vital Exercise
We climbed the rope ladder.
Carefully! As a team. Buck, Jasmine and I.
A wrong move could send the other two
smashing into the wall!
Anyway, slow process because of our ages.
Once there, we made sure to pull it up.
Just before the young wastrels packed
the courtyard, begging us to let it down!
Love the bitter looks waving over the
upturned faces.
As we thrust a unanimous finger at them!
Labels: age, experienced, generation gap, generations, ladder, selfishness, young
Monday, February 22, 2016
Often At Debate
-Well I’m just EXHAUSTED!
-Whatever for? Did you actually DO anything?
-Played tennis early on.
-That should have worn off by now. Recovery Phase.
-You think?
-Who won?
-The four of us just ass around.
-Then? Let me guess, boutique-ing!
-I’ll kill if I don’t get a pair of Maxie Prentisses.
-Aren’t those just painted army boots?
-Not JUST! The Earth and Moon and Stars!
-Whatever floats your boat.
-Mine is sinking!
-Bear up! Somewhere at this moment a person
your age is going off to be killed in a war.
-Well that’s horrible!
-Our rare agreement.
-You don’t count.
-And YOU were once called a Bright Young Thing! In F Scott Fitzgerald novels.
-That’s ancient history, and you’re ancienter!
-Making up words?
-You just stay with the old ones! And then die.
-This conversation is for the ages. And the gods!
-They’re dead too.
-Too bad! They’d all be clomping around in
Maxie Prentisses!
Labels: boutique, Bright Young Thing, cultural history, culture, F Scott Fitzgerald, fashion, generation gap, gods, shoes, tennis
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Post Most Everything
-Whatever happened to romantic songs? Boy meet girl,
and everything lovely and soft!
-Up the shit-chute with the rest of the lies, Gramps!
-“Let me put this one on with all the second-rate
violins and gay crooners, and then I’ll show you
something you ain’t seen before, Dearie Mine!”
-“O la, Sir! Well...only thrice!”
-Yeah yeah, you know it all with all the playacting of you two!
And do you really gotta dress like Goths?
-Goths! Goths? Ancient History lecture in next room!
-Anyway, Gramps, we’re actually deconstructing Rock
Deconstuction.
-With “songs” like Silence?
-Hey if Johnny Q and his proud slut wantsa listen
to ten minutes of nothing, that’s their prerogative!
-Utterly stupid!
-Not so! Just the opposite!
-Take a nap, Grandpa!
-I just got up!
-Take another.
Labels: Deconstructionism, experimental music, generation gap, Goth, Music, Rock
Saturday, March 07, 2015
Blue Collar
Idle Hands. Not.
When the men came back from the war, Flip had
completed his apprenticeship with the oldsters
who had left retirement for the emergency.
The veterans proved insufferable, calling him
girls’ names. Too, they defied the foreman by
prolonging breaks with war stories.
Flip did the job, no more, no less.
A spate of faulty raw materials ensued. And the
vets complained: “Crap stock equals crap work!”
Flip spoke up then, to their amazement. “The latter
you can do on your own.”
Thus he made enemies and didn’t care.
He became the youngest foreman ever. A concerted
slowdown followed.
In here, he got to speak with a jeep messenger, who
told him “Hey, I was a Major! A Big Deal! Not so now.
And these other recalcitrants miss the prestige,
excitement, and whores!”
Flip told him it was about time they stopped. But the
slowdown got slower, so he fired the worst one.
They marched into the Big Guy’s office and threatened
to form a union. He pointed out that they had unanimously
voted one down a year ago. But, ironed out a compromise:
Flip would take the fired one back, they would do the
work without further glacial drama.
But Flip told Mr Dash, “Him or me!” And wouldn’t be moved.
A funny thing happened then: The remaining warriors
grew obsequious.
Moreso than Flip liked, but they did the work--
mid flattery.
Life was lightened then by Bodgey, a Doberman
with eyes, one brown, one blue. Delly brought her
home from her job at the animal hospital because
the owner stopped paying board. “He went to find
gold in South America, and is probably dead.
You can’t make this stuff up!”
So, the three of them in the cottage. Flip and Delly
bought an adjoining acre for Bodgey to romp in.
The plant hummed over the years, with most of the
foremen now closer to Flip’s age once upon the time.
Management wanted him to move up to Corporate,
but he’d miss the factory floor too much, the noise.
Bodgey eventually stiffened with arthritis and
Dr Hellickson prescribed pills and massage.
The couple took turns carrying her out to her
play area.
She passed, of course. They could hardly move
or speak for a long while.
The years flew, and new corporate masters declared
Flip must retire. Not so bad financially, since he
had a solid pension and Social Security.
Delly joined him by leaving Dr Hellickson, and they
moved to North Carolina. A double-wide next to a
barn-workshop. Flip built rustic furniture, sort of,
his take on it anyway, all by hand, no power tools.
And no nails either.
Buttsy from the lumber yard delivered some nice pine
since his driver was sick. He asked to see Flip’s pieces
and was completely blown away by a chest of drawers.
“Listen! I got some exotic wood I won’t let anybody
touch. But you use some to build one for me?
No hurry.”
“It takes me forever.”
It was finally done it a few months.
Buttsy fetched in his pickup, first having Flip sign it
in a hard-to-get-to interior place, then nestling it in
a nest of blankets and covering it over almost reverently.
“Well, how much? And don’t sting me too badly!”
Flip and Delly laughed. “Jeez. I don’t know. How about
two hundred?”
“The two’s right, but make it thousand!” The couple
very nearly fainted!
“I got buyers lined up for five more. I charge them
four--just so you know what a dreadful Capitalist
you’re dealing with!”
Delly volunteered at the Boys and Girls Club, and
persuaded Buttsy one day to contribute the
exotic wood for Flip to fashion a chest for the
annual auction.
It fetched Nine!
“You’re getting famous!”
“Yeah, and it’s going to my head! I had two Cokes
yesterday instead of the one.”
Doc, the pharmacist, approached about
bookcases to line the den of his new house.
“How long you got?
“Move in, year or so.”
“I’ll do half, next year half also.”
Doc said he couldn’t wait, and Flip shrugged.
But he phoned that night and took Flip’s deal. “I guess
you don’t know it, Flip, or care, but it’s Art, I mean really is,
so I’ll hafta wait.”
When Flip hung up, he reminisced with Delly.
“You know, the men called me Gertie when
they returned from the war?”
“You’ve come a long way, Gertie!...but I’m worried
you’ll start finding me boring.”
“No way, My Beauty! And besides, I was never bored
in my life.”
Labels: art, blue collar, Craftsman, generation gap, marriage, veterans, working
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
When one door closes
another opens,
Cal was reassured
by religion and
secular folk-
lore. He purchased house
with many rooms, where
doors constantly slam
due to powerful drafts.
Nothing opens them
unless he does, or wife
Dorothea—who has
told Attorney Gaddings
told Attorney Gaddings
to file for divorce.
In another city, Cal Jr
receives news equally.
As to doors metaphor,
he scoffs, of course.
Labels: door, folklore, generation, generation gap, metaphor, religion
Thursday, November 01, 2012
Then and Now
Then
I run a political weekly skewering blatant thieves and their business bribers.
Special pet is Republican Party with its all-things-vagina approach.
More enemies than subscriptions.
Seemingly more bills than both
Before Sheriff launches us into new careers,
we always inebriate away in a Thursday party
at a low establishment, having put the rag
to bed.
The only rule is to be self-critical, to
try to balance off our scorning of others.
Some of the confessions lead to beery tears.
No surprise.
When my turn comes, I aver I’ve stopped
beating my wife, to general hilarity.
Not wife nor girlfriend, having lost both
in incendiary divorce. As hot as it was,
gossips lost interest due to my non-importance.
Now
-Those were the days...and weren’t.
-Oh Daddy, how, like, profound!
-What we could muster, lacking Nintendo.
-Lame, in all dimensions. But please stop talking. Your vacated life makes me too sad.
-Is that possible?
-I haven't begun to cry, but no time now.
Gotta scoot to Walgreens, thus car keys please?.
-Some legal drugs?
-Nah. Makeup shit. Awards ceremony tonight
where I get one or another. School wants
us to act like ladies and look like tarts.
-Wouldn’t miss it.
-Whatever.
Then
I run a political weekly skewering blatant thieves and their business bribers.
Special pet is Republican Party with its all-things-vagina approach.
More enemies than subscriptions.
Seemingly more bills than both
Before Sheriff launches us into new careers,
we always inebriate away in a Thursday party
at a low establishment, having put the rag
to bed.
The only rule is to be self-critical, to
try to balance off our scorning of others.
Some of the confessions lead to beery tears.
No surprise.
When my turn comes, I aver I’ve stopped
beating my wife, to general hilarity.
Not wife nor girlfriend, having lost both
in incendiary divorce. As hot as it was,
gossips lost interest due to my non-importance.
Now
-Those were the days...and weren’t.
-Oh Daddy, how, like, profound!
-What we could muster, lacking Nintendo.
-Lame, in all dimensions. But please stop talking. Your vacated life makes me too sad.
-Is that possible?
-I haven't begun to cry, but no time now.
Gotta scoot to Walgreens, thus car keys please?.
-Some legal drugs?
-Nah. Makeup shit. Awards ceremony tonight
where I get one or another. School wants
us to act like ladies and look like tarts.
-Wouldn’t miss it.
-Whatever.
Labels: generation gap, investigative reporting, political satire
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Youthe and elde oft at debaat
Youngsters spotlight
hypocrisy and hell-
ish lies of elders. Deny-
ing sin lurks within
acne-ravaged shells also,
they'll grow up nonetheless.
Demarcation line
being initial fish-
y look thrown by
a younger person at
totally fair utterance.
Labels: generation gap, old, young
