Sunday, May 22, 2016
Matters of Privacy
Denham kept to himself. Fact known in the small
apartment house.
But the twin sisters brought him a rice pudding, a
custom, they explained, on this day of St Ambrose,
the Grocer.
Much girlish amusement as to nothing ever done
for St Ambrose the Good!
In that relatively warm, if ecclesiastical, atmosphere,
Denham made tea.
When you got the twins on your hands, this the
quickest way to get rid of them.
He promised to return the bowl, but they said
no hurry. So he washed and polished it over a
week, to give the gossips no ammunition.
Then, stored it a bit, next to his Giants mugs.
For Deirdre, the twin with the shooting eye, had died.
He made his way to her viewing in their apartment,
hoping to be the last.
He was, and at the end mentioned the bowl to Destiny,
who blinked and blinked claiming it wasn't important
for now.
Denham took a deep breath, in preparation for his
escape, but when he got his hand on the doorknob,
it just tuned and turned in a lumpy circle.
No use calling Arthur, who was resting his bad back
and wouldn't come anyway.
She closed Deirdre's coffin and put on popcorn.
Announcing both that they were two adults, and that
there would be no silly mourning prohibitions either,
including not watching the Giants and Eagles in the
Thursday night game just starting.
Labels: apartment house, death, Eagles, eccentrics, football, funeral, funeral customs, Giants, gossip, loneliness, saints, sex, twins
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Twin Sisters
Our real Daddy travels.
We get many packages
wrapped by foreigners.
Our at-home Daddy is “Clint”
nicknamed after Eastwood. He
actually says GO AHEAD, MAKE
MY DAY! First line of The Moron's
Natural Anthem. Understood that
Mom keeps him for the bed-thrust.
Viagra adds to it, presumably. They
worry about us as sexual beings
but art's our lust. Mom, in one
of her cogent moments bought us
memberships in the town art center.
We’re there late hours, so
Clint picks us up to shield
against the army of perverts
patrolling its borders. Sisters,
ordinarily reserved, babble all
the way home like we-we piggies!
Also, throw in a lot of sleazy expressions
and sexy hints for Clint and Mom to con-
duct a CIA analysis over kitchen espressos.
So, off to college next year!
And different ones. Hey, we
tweeted before it was possible--
don't have to live together. Clint
and Mom toyed with boutiquey ones.
Dad thought Ivy, but we convinced
him and his money that huge state
universities with thumping art departments
would make it in our identical eyes. Been
lectured as to large, licentious temptation
there, vice multitudinous! Oh well, be nice
to have boyfriends. If they
don’t get in the way.
Our real Daddy travels.
We get many packages
wrapped by foreigners.
Our at-home Daddy is “Clint”
nicknamed after Eastwood. He
actually says GO AHEAD, MAKE
MY DAY! First line of The Moron's
Natural Anthem. Understood that
Mom keeps him for the bed-thrust.
Viagra adds to it, presumably. They
worry about us as sexual beings
but art's our lust. Mom, in one
of her cogent moments bought us
memberships in the town art center.
We’re there late hours, so
Clint picks us up to shield
against the army of perverts
patrolling its borders. Sisters,
ordinarily reserved, babble all
the way home like we-we piggies!
Also, throw in a lot of sleazy expressions
and sexy hints for Clint and Mom to con-
duct a CIA analysis over kitchen espressos.
So, off to college next year!
And different ones. Hey, we
tweeted before it was possible--
don't have to live together. Clint
and Mom toyed with boutiquey ones.
Dad thought Ivy, but we convinced
him and his money that huge state
universities with thumping art departments
would make it in our identical eyes. Been
lectured as to large, licentious temptation
there, vice multitudinous! Oh well, be nice
to have boyfriends. If they
don’t get in the way.
