Wednesday, April 25, 2018
Gone
Ruppy found little trace of her.
Twisted tubes of makeup here
and there, looking like a disgusted
painter had flung them.
He deduced that Nora had left.
And probably with a character
from her office she couldn’t
shut up about.
“Mr Jibber-Jabber,” pronounced
he into false twilight, birds bending
their flight down like a hinge.
Before he could go on the net to
explore a proper group for Males
Unaware, Friend One bursts in.
“Change nothing! You’ll just meet
another dissatisfied woman. God
himself has given up this city!”
“I must do something!"
“So turn into a parody? The girls
have cornered the market.
Latest is their acquiring lips
like Ubangis! OH? It can laugh.
Heart smashed to shit and it can
still laugh!”
“Stick a fork in me, I’m done!”
“Look at that light. It has turned gold!
And what are the birds doing?”
“Gliding.”
“Bingo!”
Labels: abandoned, group therapy, Nature, quiet, voluble
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Varieties of Discourse
in Philadelphia
Mark being articulate, too much, we went crazy with
his repetitions.
Whatever the subject, and they, too, proved limitless.
Lizzy, our garage sale maniac, hit one of Eagles memorabilia,
the old dude having kicked his last football. Evidently a true
idiot, his compressed air horn was thrown in by the grinning
widow when Liz bought all the jerseys at full price.
So, we dressed in them, and blasted the horn when Mark
spouted on and on.
Worked for a while: he clammed after a normal time!
But one night, he kept going anyway, so we adjourned
outside for some weed.
There we just caught his murmurs, not unbearable. Anyway,
the subject was mothers, specifically his.
When we got back, Liz gave him one extraordinarily sustained
blast and he exploded into tears.
Trembling wetly, explained that talking was like breathing
to him!
So we compromised. He sped on, seemingly with infinity in
mind, and we simply turned off.
Yeah? Don’t worry about it! We ARE becoming adults.
Taking our own routes.
Labels: air horn, Eagles, football, Philadelphia, voluble
