Monday, November 30, 2015
Family and Friends
In the strangest twist of all, Bertram always passed out the
pictures of last year’s Thanksgiving. To much amusement.
Even Uncle Fred forgot his furious Rightyness to laugh
at his images as much as he did all the others.
Well. No pictures this year. No chortling Host, no Hostess,
scarlet in her kitchen mid steam. And no explanation. And Bert
has gone digital. And his companion, Snip, has gone, period.
And Fred has died. Business Leader announced the Gazette.
“Who’d he leave all that dried food to?” Marie asked.
“Screw that! How about the gold?” from her Val.
Our host quipped “The Institute of Enforced Tradition got
“I like the enforced part,” mused Hallie, back from her
first year teaching job at UMass. Bert showed her closeup
on the screen of the camera.
“It’s me all right!”
Her boyfriend chimed in–-unusual. He mostly says nothing.
“Without force you don’t get tradition.”
“Right up Fred’s alley” toasted our Host. We joined in. The eiswein
cooling our throats.
“You can’t have one without the other,” sang Old-Maid-Jenny.
“That’s Love and Marriage,” laughed her longtime Bud.
“What are those anyway?”
Well, the way it went, photographer less intrusive, Hostess out-
charming the magazine ideal, all of us Norman Rockwell-y, no shit!
Best Thanksgiving ever! Not just because no Fred, but Bert’s former
Snip would blast Mother Teresa.
Labels: digital photography, Furious Right, Love and Marriage, Norman Rockwell, old maid, photography, Right Fear, sniping, table wit, Thanksgiving
Sunday, November 29, 2015
It wasn’t “You really should meet X.
Looks just like you!”
We stumble into each other at a
railway station, both on hour delay,
big storm down the line. Have coffee.
“You have the same little scar under
left eye. Cherry tree branch in my case.
Snapped by a climbing companion.”
He doesn’t remember, or says he doesn’t.
We fit up other particulars as to taste in
food and other trivialities.
Is there a Rita to tear him to pieces?
I finally blurt.
Zoe, and not quite as serious, “But...a little
hyperbole?” he laughs at me.
“I catch myself sometimes too!” he adds.
Little time left, so he proposes that we learn
to think alike, compromise on Rita and Zoe.
Since he understates, while I...
Thus Rita catches a break.
I take his card, he mine.
“What a creep!” I announce to my private
Labels: doppelganger, double, experience, girlfriends, marriage, rail, taste, wives, women
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Mark wedged the bitterness
of his favorite team losing
into Reggie. It felt wonderful!
But later, not so much. Thus he
apologized. Half a heart being
better than none.
But didn't she embrace her wound!
Water Works on disparate occasions,
faint once in a stupid line to a "historical"
chick-flick. Women make it stink!
Tides of Llamamour! Holy Christ!
Okay, the team is winning presently,
his love for her almost surpassing it.
And she forgets to be hurt. Cute in
an oversized jersey.
Labels: chick-flick, football, hurt, relationship, scapegoat, Sports, women
Friday, November 27, 2015
The Worry of Worry
When Cindy proposed a bike trip
through Southern Indiana, Rentz
promised to think about it.
He did. Initially. Then only of the
possible dangers. From here he
branched out to local and national
and international dangers.
In short, he worried.
When she finally called, he told her
to get lost--somewhat more politely
He couldn't afford risk-takers in his life.
Which was hostile and worrisome enough.
He became Worry. In fact, if there were
a Mount Olympus in Muncie, he'd be God
Friends peeled away, and he got fired for
warning all his fellow employees by
preaching the hedges against disaster
learned from talk radio, including gold
and dried food.
He worries 24-7 as best he can. Though
afraid to go to sleep, he does drop off
Armageddon will begin in Muncie, his
Readers chime in, offering their own towns.
And lives worse.
Labels: Armageddon, bike, danger, Indiana, Muncie, Olympus, pathology, risk-taker, Talk Radio, worry
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Labels: Beach Boys, California, California Girls, comedian, Health, marriage, Schubert, sickness, West Point
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Dating Over 50
Labels: criticism, dating over 50, Facebook, relationship.dating, seminar, sex, shopping
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
-“Bureau of Adjustment” it’s called.
-It’s for when you’re tearing your hair out?
-Thousand upfront and we make most go away.
-Where does the thousand go?
-Where it does the most good: The Party!
-What’s the process in making some other bureau
drop the scabrous complaint?
-You read from a script:
Hi! This is_____________from The Adjustment Bureau.
Big Guy says drop the fuckin complaint against_________!
-Thousand could be a bargain at that!
-Uh, there’s actually a sliding scale.
-Littlest John Q might be dinged for...two?
-Sky’s limit after him?
-Such a beautiful sky!
Labels: adjustment, bribery, city, city politics, corruption, governance
Monday, November 23, 2015
The History of Such Things
Lifting it from the realm of bullshit and religion, Republicans
finally built their SHINING CITY ON THE HILL!
Financed by senior citizens whose Social Security and private
and public pensions were cut in half. And 401Ks expropriated.
They, in turn, formed a very slow-moving army brandishing WW2
carbines, which finally got to Washington.
Where General Honsaart attacked them at various deep-discount
Marriotts at an hour when all in the bathroom. Images of those
lasered on thrones in morning light went quickly viral.
The Shining City was completed, and great ceremonies followed.
Oratory embraced Freedom and the Private Sector and the
When the last National Anthem faded completely–-and sung
conventionally, not in some bebop–-the entire city fell down
all at once. And slid. Enormous pile of various sheens filled
the valley. And acrid smoke.
The Congressional Investigating Committee finally settled
on the word Larceny, which the nation understood.
John Dillinger taken off the ten-dollar bill–-in case you think
that committees accomplish nothing.
Well, Democrats swept back in, White House to Dogcatcher.
Seniors were restored, though an inflation left them about
where they were.
And the onerous 15C Form which heretofore every citizen
had to fill out, was eliminated in favor of an anus probe
which revealed the same information.
But before you scream about being violated, only one
person had to undergo it. Jack L. G. Wantzler of Paramus,
New Jersey stood in of the rest of us. Interlocking
interweaving algorithms then projected the information
for the whole country.
Thus, appearing at ballgames, the New American Hero for
the “New American Century!”–-the latter the Republicans
had been too busy stealing to really create.
Things went stodgily and bureaucratically from thence on,
but it was still America, and citizens were advised to
stay near walls if they ventured out on twilight walks,
Labels: "Free" Market, America, Democrat, Dillinger, freedom, Larceny, Marriott, New American Century, New American Hero, Republican, Shining City on Hill
Sunday, November 22, 2015
Maxie-A flips pancakes for Marie and their “Tribe of Brats.”
“Henslow Trevelyan Peters and his Belle-Hester
can’t sell their Top Architect’s Rambler of a house. They naturally fight.”
“Sad!” from Marie who has finally lifted a portion to her lips, only to put the fork down and help the twins cut.
A 5 and 6 play cars beneath the table.
“It’s a Harry Gordon!” he mocks.
Marie praises while Cliffy mushes his pancake
around his highchair tray: “And the Rose Garden,
and Topiary stuff! Jeez! The grounds!”
Steaming Prophet of the Grill.
Labels: brats, chaos, divorce, Family, family breakfast, finance, kids, marriage, pancakes, wealthy family
Saturday, November 21, 2015
When I went to the new country to
work, was pretty naive, not noticing
that the welcoming ceremony, and
orientation, and picnic all indoors.
Well, a glance out the thick windows
showed a typhoon. Next day, blizzard!
You get the idea.
My apartment was in the same building,
and I never went outside.
Well, can't say never, because the rare
day was livable, resembling the one when
I flew in. About seven a year, and magnificent
outings were held. Long tours, music, dances,
you name it!
During one of these, Cunalga, a perfectly
proportion Amazon of a woman twice my
size intimated that "The one part of me
is normal." No time like the present.
We moved in together, engaging in the only
pastime the inhabitants...well, no hobbies,
just work and horrible weather. We didn't
even mind the twelve hours on, twelve hours
off, shifts and seven days a week!
No holidays except those decreed when the
nice weather struck.
Well, just as you can get used to anything,
you can get bloody tired of it!
We plotted an escape for the next nice day.
Had to wait more than a year, but bundled
up in all our clothes and vamoosed.
The next country over wasn't that far.
After a journey of five days, mostly
earthquakes, we tore off our filthy
clothes in a totally beautiful climate
where everything bloomed year round.
I thought I'd be given the same job, but
no one worked here. Machines made
other machines to do that.
The central pastime was the same, but
Indoors, too, clothing optional. Much spur
of the moment stuff. I stayed faithful. Fear?
Well, her size!
The worst thing, though, was that everyone
was completely nice. That grew on our nerves.
Everyone was totally understanding of
everything, and when we left, flowers
thrown at us, and much hugging and kissing
We were given rail tickets to the next country.
It consisted only of Male Hairdressers and
had a four season climate of no extremes.
This last was in the population! A meeting
held to decide what to do with Cunalga.
I don't want to stereotype, but it was a catty,
and frequently cutting and vicious one.
Well, they named her Queen!
She ruled absolutely, and didn't she
relish it! I'd never seen that side before.
Even the meanest hairdresser kowtowed!
Queen Cunalga ordered me to hairdressing
school, and, even as a student, I did her hair
The jealousy nearly brought about a
A compromise reached on the basis of
MY hair, shoulder-length by now, and
I'm passed around.
I've grown fond of a couple of men in
the mix, rather too much so.
Labels: altruism, Amazon, climate, extreme climate, hairdresser, male hairdresser, royatty, sex
Friday, November 20, 2015
Never paid Federal Income Tax.
Assumed in his country that
some families didn't.
And, unlike The States, ingenious
lawyers didn't torture the language
Until. His friends persuaded him that
he must run for office, rescuing,
thereby, the Nation!
His imported American Campaign Manager
spoke of optics. So he offered a one-time
settlement, quite moderate. Tax Authority
announced him in compliance.
Made him ill: "What this country has come to!"
Labels: income tax, lawyers, politics, privilege, Right, tax evasion, wealth
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Taste In Everything
-We still pouring boiling coffee on him?
-His religion forbids in any form.
-That may be, but if you’re on the next shift,
-You gotta be MC, next banquet!
-I’m not funny. Life is.
-But listen, Ludge, Sumatran Elite? Employees buy the coffee around here and...!
-You want Safeway generic?
-Remember, Jerome, it’s our country we’re talking about here!
Labels: CIA, coffee, comedy, interrogation techniques, patriotism, Safeway, Sumatran, torture
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
-Hemingway? Fitzgerald? With Web might be millions!
-How about Ernie’s statue in Pamplona?
-Be thousand Pamplonas, and thousands of statues of various Hemingways!
-But, the one iconic!
-All will be iconic.
-Oh well, as Whitman said I am multitudes!
-He knew his shit way back when!
-I rest my case.
Labels: Elitism, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, iconic, Literature, multitudes, talent, Walt Whitman, web, Web Future
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
-No! I heard it clear and distinctly--uh, no pun. You fart "Freedom!" The actual word! Just... extraordinarily. I can't get over it!
Labels: Boxers, fart, freedom, Jockeys, patriotism, Republican, underwear
Monday, November 16, 2015
A bird and a rat formed a friendship,
which struggled a bit on the topic of beauty.
Bird insisted on all of his species being
pretty to some degree, while no rat was.
Rat countered with the example of Jeanette,
who lived on a nearby dump, or landfill as
Rat called it.
She was not only pretty, but sang wonderfully.
In a Crosby-Sinatra-Jo Stafford Old-Standard
Bird said “I’m from Missouri!” So they made a date
to meet there.
Well, Bird had to admit, that, for a rat...
“I’ll accept that. It’s unrealistic to expect more.
Now, how about Moon River?” Rat asked Jeanette.
But she wouldn’t sing if asked.
“Just another Rat-Quirk!” sniffed Bird.
But sold them her CD.
Bird bought another later that day, of bird songs.
And the contest was on!
Much latter, Rat, exasperated: “Is all life one-
“What planet did you scurry from?”
Labels: aesthetics, bird, bird songs, CD, competition, fable, popular music, rat
Sunday, November 15, 2015
More To Know,
-Was during the time I taught school in Montana.
-Whoa! Whoa-freakin-whoa! You taught school
-So I said.
-Known you five years! And you never said anything about...!
-Occasion never presented itself.
-And two of those years...ahem!...intimately.
-Well...was nice, but you got your Carl now.
-Earth moon stars! I wake up happy! Am I jinxing
things saying this?
-I’m non-believer in bushwah, so, no.
-Uh huh? Look! The Gary Cooper part is dead in
-Yeah, it’s all Woody Callin.
-Will there be further “reveals?” From Mysterioso?
-Well, don’t forget the cookout. You can tell us
which of your old students made it in the cattle
and fashion industries.
-(sings) My home’s in Montana.
I wear a bandanna!
-New York Jew.
-Best of the best for our gang!
Labels: friends, Gary Cooper, Jew, laconic, Montana, New York, relationship, reticent, secretive
Saturday, November 14, 2015
The Appetities of Women
When Tess returned from her crazy fling in the Poconos,
Cliff instantly forgave, which really knocked her off-stride.
“He’s too good!” she complained to Letzy, who agreed.
They decided to toughen him up! Final object: The
Succeeded so well that Betts Harkin, who had just
moved from Scranton, gathered him up. “Hey! I thought
too much Brotherly Love in the City of Brotherly Love!
Then I met Cliff and forgot all the little feminine ones!”
Now, Tess spurned! When she tried to complain to
the “Broads Only Thursday Wine Group,” she was told
to shut up. “Besides, any man that can be switched
back and forth like that isn’t worth shit!”
That last from old married woman, Delsey Karks,
with the--don’t you know?--perfect husband!
The following week he pulled a rowboat up to
the Gas Company dock. Dressed as a pirate mid
He “kidnapped” her from her desk mid squeals aplenty
from the other women.
They rowed to dinner in Manayunk, troupadored by
Biffer Hoxley and his guitar .
Prisoner of Love and other Bing Crosby era passions.
‘No freakin taste!” Together remark Tess and Letzy .
watching them out the tall window.
“What’s a swash anyway?” Letzy asks.
“I don’t know, but I bet she can’t wait for him
to buckle it.”
“Can you UNbuckle it?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Channel Six had covered, and the subsequent rowing back
of Biffer, alone.
For some reason, they wanted to further cement the “Old
Lady Demographic,” with the poignant shot of Biffer
leaving the rowboat, trudging the pier to the parking lot.
Anchor Destiny D’Onofrio, who had graduated from Archbishop
Carroll with Tess, sent her the story on her phone before it aired,
and she threw it up on the largest screen in the office.
A party was ensuing where staff, and interns heading back to
college, ingested cake.
Tess thought she'd try a slice. “My fifth!” bragged Dinah Dell from
Villanova. “Sugar High, like, totally insured! But, hey! that’s some
Major-League Butt up there!” shrieked she as Biffer eased the guitar
into his Fiat.
Labels: Bing Crosby, fling, jealously, married love, News-6, Philadelphia, Poconos, relationship, serenade, sexual appetite, sugar high, women
Friday, November 13, 2015
Laf ass off
He never directly quoted Nelly-Belly
on the air. Referred to her offhand.
Sidelight to the show's thrust.
Soft throwaway lines for the most part...
always she was pregnant and on welfare.
"Last week, forced into looking for work,
she thought Philosopher be a good gig!
Now you can’t call folks lazy who wanna
think real hard!"
You're so great with voices! I wanna HEAR her.
Down-home blackest Alabama? Maybe what
buck’s Daddy presently? Well...don't tell artist
how to paint!
What The Man wants...
Instead of his fiery monolog that next closing,
Nelly-Belly dreaming of "Biscuits wi' gravy,
O mah STARS!"
Sponsor texts lafd ass off!
Labels: black, black dialect, black woman, Race, radio, satire directed at black woman
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Honors and Family
Highest award in the Agency. And, as you might guess,
hush-hush. The President, of course, approved, and
Dr Anknul said to the few present, “Without this Operative,
there’d BE no Zendenistan!”
The following morning, Hannalore had already left for
meetings, and Ricky tossed something onto the pile of trash
overflowing the plastic barrel, screaming “Zach, you got two
minutes to leave for swim practice!”
He appears! Disgusting, yet alive, and they're departing.
Bus for him.
“Trash?” he reminds!
“You handle it, Spy-Man!”
Zach adds, gobbling a Pop Tart, “You’re lucky we don’t piss on it!”
Labels: award, CIA, Family, operative, President, spy, trash
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Getting It Together
He told them that Alabama could actually edge China on low wages, and that was good enough for him. As for the rest of it...well...ignorant people everywhere in the world!
Labels: airplane, Alabama, China, consortium, European, manufacturing, N-Word, prejudice, Race
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
The Revolutionary Woman
Widely assumed that since the Democrats will run a
woman for president, that many Republican gals will
“pull her lever” in the privacy of the voting booth.
And thus not do as they're told.
Such perversity! I'm...still not quite sure. Most Republican
Babes being Stockholm-Syndrome!
Though we had a few in our Revolution! Occupying the YW
in our town.
We had brought our husbands’ weapons from home. Plenty of
groceries too for the inevitable siege.
Which went on for two months. Were we absent from home
all that time?
Not really. Some got back in emergencies, negotiating with the
enemy to pass.
Certain categories of women allowed to:
1) The Happy, Prancing Fool
2) Sweet Sue
3) The Upright Old Broad
4) The Militant, but on simmer.
That first week, Happy, Prancing. We plastered to
the window to watch her wide smile and z-ing gait.
It was a thing of beautiful idiocy. And made the men
quite happy. They all hugged her when she could hold still.
Sweet Sue a week later. Oozed honey. The guards insisted
she stay with them a bit for danish and tea and her most-loving
look–-which lingered long after she left! Like the Cheshire
No mystery to the UOB, crepe dress crackling with static electricity,
Proper librarian! All the men deferred, pretending she still
carried some sex along with her that might yet charm old
The only Militant ever granted leave hid some weird sex deep
within her. All males intrigued. And of course willing to be ruled
by her with the future promise of the Great Whamma-Whamma.
No, we didn’t give up, despite what the right-wing media maintains. And maintains.
We negotiated an end to the Occupation.
Mostly done by those Militants who kept the fatal-cliche-mysteriouso down, intellectually.
The weapons still locked in a room at the YW, with our One and
Two having keys.
We failed simply because we wouldn’t shed blood, that is kill
someone’s father or bother.
Next time, we won’t hold to this. As very painful as that is.
Labels: female, Female Advocacy, guns, Republican, Republican Woman, revolution, Revolutionary Woman, violence, war, Women's Movement
Monday, November 09, 2015
-We're doing Second-Amendment Hamlet.
-How does that work? Or blast?
-Speeds it up. The horny King iced at about the eighth minute.
-And his slut, Ham's mom?
-Spared. Left to Heaven.
-That's Lady Macbeth!
-Same theme. Keep the Woman Interest.
-Speaking of which, the beautiful Ophelia?
-Still goes bananas. I have her wending whackily through the
audience, strewing posies.
-Lovely! but a distraction. Nice 38 on hand, and just one corpse
so far? What a waste!
-Not to fret! Polonious and her brother Laerties then dispatched!
-No loss with the old bullshitter, but wasn’t Laerties a bud? Ham’s
Man-Crush! Or was that Horatio?
-Played the field. Tragic accident anyway. Our scattered hero
aiming at a hare loose at court. After all, we have a tragedy here!
Need senseless elements like life itself. Anyway, you just don’t
-And when Ham gets it in the duel? Well, who’s left with poisoned
rapier to do it?
-Osric, the flit. And New King!
-HE can’t say Good night, sweet Prince, and flights of angels
sing thee to your rest! Too swishy!
-Rosencrantz and Guilderstern in rock n' roll duet. A totally nice bit!
-With video of the angels wearing NRA jackets?
-Vests, so the wings poke through.
Labels: angels, duel, Good Night sweet Prince, gun control, guns, Hamlet, NRA, Second Amendment
Sunday, November 08, 2015
Ill Wind Ceasing
Alone in his plumbing office of a Monday, Hocks dreams
of throwing himself into the river to drown.
Three big jobs had been re-dos that last week, profit
out the window.
In bursts Reccles! “Pittsburgh, are you kidding?
Ten and a half points underdog and they win
by twenty! And five of our other lemons won!
He counts out ten hundreds for Hocks onto the messy desk!
After, he pictures the Regency Hotel, on the same river he
thought to drown in. A bed piled high with classy food and
bottles of wine.
Plus Misty Tebbs.
They’re right about this dump,” coos she. “It’s been, like,
Labels: football, football pool, gambling, plumbing, profit, re-do, refurbished, taste
Saturday, November 07, 2015
No fun encountering Larry when he was out eating. Wouldn’t, or couldn’t, put down his fork.
People excused themselves after minimal chat,
devising an escape fiction.
When wizzlebinks infested, he strapped the fork to a wrist.
Board of Health said chew as many as you wish. Practically pure, so remarkably clean, and of a nutty protein flavor.
You didn’t need a fork, though Larry preferred hearing the tiny scream.
Labels: Board of Health, foodie, gluttony, infestation, sadism
Friday, November 06, 2015
Insidious Harm By the Working Poor
-Fast Food workers to picket
Republican Presidential Debate.
-Let me guess! Everyone up there
on Mount Right-Olympus against
any new minimum wage.
-Will grievously grievously injure
the rest of us, even a nip outa
Mr Gotrocks' super-comfortable ass.
-What's HIS Minimum Wage?
-Oh? Coulda fooled me!
Labels: Fast Food Workers, Gotrocks, minimum wage, Party of the Rich, Republican, Republican Presidential Debate, Republicans and Labor
Thursday, November 05, 2015
Ruppy “enjoyed” living in the Old Soldiers Home.
Food not bad, and he had his own little room.
Spent most of his time in there. Making coffee
or watching a ball game, or reading the magazines
he picked from the dumpster.
So? Who is left alone for long? The new President
sought to close such places and deposit the inhabitants
in more personal domiciles. “The Small-Family Initiative.”
Ruppy was interviewed by those who ran these
establishments. Gray, no-nonsense ladies primarily.
He gave his moderate demeanor an angry edge
for these, and was rejected.
There followed a great month when he was allowed
to stay in the empty institution as a sort of watchman.
Prepare his food in the cavernous kitchen, and roam
freely throughout the building. For his whole life
he had ”picked up a broom.” And therefore ran
the vacuum cleaners every few days.
He prayed silently for this life to go on.
But Mrs Benjamin came with her battered Cadillac,
and fetched him.
He became her boarder, but really lived the last
way he did in the institution. Preparing his own meals
and picking up a broom. The latter became more
urgent as Mrs Benjamin went on periodic booze tears.
Always a DT space in each in which she yelled out the windows
before she went ice-cold turkey. To passerby or postman:
“Please don’t hurt me!”
One day a voice came back. “Now I never have, have I?”
Sailor. “Who turns up not as a bad penny, but as a bright
new shiny one!” she eventually exulted.
Thus, the three of them. Another trudge for Ruppy was that lover-
boy Sailor had malarial bouts, where he got as confused as
Mrs Benjamin in her throes.
Fortunately, the spacing proved okay for Ruppy as he helped both.
Not usually overlapping. He primarily fetched prescriptions.
“I’m the freakin errand boy!” he complained. And he never softened
anything for Marcy Carker, who wrote of this “family” for
the Patriot-Messenger. She did soften things a bit however.
Thus Mrs Benjamin suffered from a “recurring mental problem.”
Sailor allowed to keep his bizarre incurable strain of Malaria.
And, as the program intended, they helped each other.
Re-enter the President, and Ruppy had to be limoed to Washington
to receive the Modern Family of the Month Award from his cool hands.
A red, white, blue, spearing abstract of a thing.
Timing off for the other two to attend, both just coming off the rare
Anyway, the three of them lived in relative amity after–-but not for long.Mrs B died, and Sailor soon after.
The newest president was on a RE-institutionalizing tear, and it looked like Ruppy could end up back in the old place.
It was now called The Armed Forces Home, with a new staff, and only had an opening for a navy person.
He used Sailor’s old IDs and his discharge--not the only person
there, or anywhere, to switch a bit.
Dr Cragnul persuaded him to display the Family trophy in the
case in the lobby, as if this site had been awarded. It revolved.
Labels: alcoholic, government, identity, navy, Old Soldiers Home, President, sailor
Wednesday, November 04, 2015
-My side: Order, Checklists, a Plan!
-Hers? and I wince asking.
-Last-minute clusterfuck with everybody screaming!
-What can you do when thrown in with them? Calm them somehow?
-Start screaming too!
-Is that why they like you?
-I believe so. I also can do a split! Observe!
Labels: chaos, checklist, clusterfuck, contrasting families, Family, order, plan, screaming, split
Tuesday, November 03, 2015
The Speech Writer and the Congressman
-Just don’t go fuckin Reagan on me!
-Bright thrust of wonder!
-And I’m to wonderfully thrust that into
your usual dim cornpone?
-Nelly read it in a poetry book.
Labels: bs.Congress, inspirational politics, Regan, speech, speech writer
Monday, November 02, 2015
Passion and Radio
The Woman Who Collected
All baseball players, but she meticulously painted
a few to look like men she knows.
These she left in the steel cabinet in her cellar,
alongside the paints.
Once in a while, Love’d get them moving, and found it
But Uncle Retz wouldn’t stop. She knew he should,
and didn’t like the idea of his going on in the
dark long after the others had stilled.
For some reason, she toyed with the idea of showing
him his doll, but all her fellows were painted on a light
cocoa base of the Afro-American players, and she knew
he’d object, imagining his saying
“Well I’m angry. And white. So I guess I’m an angry
white man. Doesn’t take an Einstein to put that together.
Or one among our darker brethren, though dat's a
contradiction in terms dere! ”
Was it rage propelled the floppy spring that kept
his doll agitated?
Love mostly rejected any magic to it, and just enjoyed,
but it bothered her not to know the reason he wouldn’t
Finally she reasoned that it’s an old house, and moves
and groans a lot more than a new one, and maybe he’s a
bit more off-balance than the others.
That was a joke and she enjoyed it!
Whether the doll moved in quantum consonance with
his hate didn’t really occupy her. Besides she was
busy in her upstairs workroom, starting on the rest of
her big collection, now to resemble TV characters.
So Love’s “family and friends” forgotten and left
in the cellar.
But one night she went there to fetch a new jar of paint
for Gilligan. And Retzy, of course, wouldn’t halt his
bobbing in the buzzing florescent light.
She found a piece of cardboard, folded it, and shoved
it in there to stop the action.
At the service, Rev Carruthers spoke of Retzy’s
Passion for Justice and Radio.
“Whatever?” Love concluded later, putting her dun
gloves away. She kept them in the little plastic box
Sunday, November 01, 2015
The Woman Who Counted By Sundays
Thus, “Three Sundays since my Pupsy left!”
or “Pupsy came back two Sundays ago.
I forgot to tell you.”
At a point she reverted to: a mess of
Sundays ago, or so many Sundays
I lost count.
His last departure looked permanent,
but she spied him in Walmart. Alone,
She followed him until he pawed the
no-label DVDs. Then approached him
from the back. “How’re doin, Pups?”
They brought a chair for him, and she further
commanded a glass of water. He liked
her taking charge.
Back he came.
So long ago now, that she dropped the Sundays.
With the two Ethels one Monopoly night in the
bungalow, she stayed on topic with “My Pubsy
might look scrawny, but he delivers in the one
The laughter reached him in the dirt cellar as
he disassembled a lawnmower.
Then one Ethel maintained: “Still, you should take
it easy on him.”
Two, “Or the life might go outa that huge thing!”
The whole house swelled with their guffaws, and
he put down the glowing wrench to savor it.
Well, anyway, some have an odd romance.
Others let the word turn to ashes on their tongue.
Labels: breakups, couples, reconciliations, women