Thursday, February 11, 2016
Father of Daughters, Father of Sons
1)
Startled awake by discordant sobs
from two rooms.
With Cecily, Aunt Dot in nightgown and
army jacket.
"What the hell is going ON?"
She nodded toward the other bedroom where
Dinah’s noise had risen to retching.
There would his wife be, putting her finger
to her lips as a signal he should say nothing.
Two smashed romances, he guessed. But couldn't
visualize the individual males.
He held a generic one in his mind: stolid and
stupidly hormonal.
Walked out the garage to the freezing driveway.
The aunt's car whooped away, the door open.
He turned it off and closed the door and locked
it with the key. Put it in his robe pocket.
Three snow-streaked driveways over, spinning lights,
blue and red.
He walked towards them, his slippers crunching out
the wails from the house.
2)
Jumped from bed at the room pulsing red and
blue. When he got to the front door he could
see the slice of driveway with strident Budgey
on the ground being cuffed by the older cop,
and silent Hap running in the roadway, pursued
by the younger one.
No contest. Drunk B quickly exhausted, and
returned like a bundle. Then cuffed as well.
But left standing.
“What the hell...?” the father began.
"Suspicion of DUI," as officer coached the
manacled Budgey to his feet. "Quite one
weird chase from 7-11!"
The Dad allowed to check both as they protested
slurred innocence.
"They gotta be tested now. Send your lawyer in
the morning."
"A mother sleeping through all this?" shrugged the
younger one.
"She's at a conference for teachers."
Both cops nodded.
Right after the squad car extracted its colors, and
culprits, and the open doors of the remaining car
slammed shut, the two fathers stared dimly at each other
as black snow began softly falling.
Labels: cold, cops, daughters, drunk, DUI, family emergencies, Fathers, Romance, sex, snow, sons
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Winter Tale
Jammy
didn’t know how to say goodbye.
The name had stuck from childhood, something
to do with pajamas.
One drunken night we taught him exit lines on
the order of Well, gotta get going. I’m already
in trouble with Cynthia, Belle, Brennan, Ruth etc.
...few more reasons of that imaginative ilk.
“But you guys don’t understand. I’m so ferociously lonely!”
We pretended not to. Pushed him out the door into a wind
of slanting ice.
Resumed.
Labels: drunk, exit line, friends, gregarious, ice, loneliness, pajamas, snow, talkative, wind, winter
Saturday, December 05, 2015
Ancient Transgressions
-When they still delivered in this neighborhood, went out of a morning to get the milk. Bottle showed black and white, all splotchy.
-Defective? Off?
-Sin.
-Wow! Recall your particulars?
-Blocked to this day.
-What a Catechismal doozy! I'm envious! But...you had Confession. Could be absolved.
-Never took, even up to this more ambiguous time.
-So, really, we got a kind of Major League Sinner here!--if I'm not mistaken. And how does Jill-Ann...?
-She's as pure as the driven snow!
-How nice for you?
-...before the road crew rumbles past, plowing huge
ice boulders into your driveway.
-And making it difficult to get around?
-You don't get around Jill-Ann!
Labels: Catechism, Catholic, Confession, friendship, guilt, ice, relationship, snow
Monday, June 30, 2014
Canadians Sans Much Hate
Doing chores around his tiny cabin,
Nurpie liked listening to Budge
Magnow. Though Budge was pretty
far right.
In fact, had just finished labeling caller
Montreal Eddie as left of Marx, but
Eddie laughed that was a compliment.
But the best part of Magnow's shows
were when he took a week on a topic.
This next week would be Anxiety, and
Nurpie looked forward to it.
A lady doctor would come on from the
provincial hospital.
The bad side was that Nurpie started to
get anxious about everything, and called
his grownup kids without having much to say.
Emailed his ex who wisecracked “I just love
worry. It defines me.”
He met his only close neighbor, Bell, at
the mailbox, and Bell laughed, "Snow and
dread, an unbeatable combination."
The anxiety week passed and he encountered
nothing dreadful until he slipped and cut a
finger on the mailbox. Put on antibiotic
ointment and wrapped it tightly.
Wasn't sure if it needed a stitch, but
probably not. A lady in the southern
village did stitches. She had been
a nurse in mining camps.
Budge was going on about the American
Republicans having more guts than their
Canadian counterparts. Nurpie turned down
the volume and smiled as hail ticked.
Labels: Canada, Republican, Right Wing, snow, Talk Radio
