A dull thud emanated from the cabinet last week as I passed by the kitchen. I didn’t investigate, but the thud got louder and louder while I camped out in the living room. Not one to be entirely superstitious, I shrugged it off and continued drinking my beer. You know, I couldn’t tell you what the thud was, but my next-door neighbor happened to see movement in my kitchen from their window at allegedly the same time as the thuds. Frightened, I packed up and moved away from that house as quickly as I possibly could. There’s no way in hell I’m going to live next to a nosy neighbor.
Category: Poetry
Behavior at These Times
We clearly didn’t get enough sleep, and now I can’t even focus for more than four seconds without staring off into space like some kind of nutjob. It’s impossible to plan to feel this way, but we could certainly have predicted it based upon our nightly behavior.
At these times, it’s important to remember that stomach lining can be replaced, and your muscles don’t always feel this tight. Nobody’s looking at you funny, so stop squenching up your face like you’re staring at the sun before you give me a heart attack.
I’m prone to sudden spasms, you know that.
For Sanitary Purposes
If I have no option other than to sweat here like a pig in heat (the humid Texas Gulf Coast, no less), shouldn’t I at least have a say in what kind of clothes I wear? I’m really disappointed in you for signing that uniform contract without at least reading it first. Isn’t that the first rule to contract negotiation? I’m not angry that I have to wear a uniform, I’m just pissed that you initialed the box right next to the statement that reads, and I quote: “All employees are now required to wear spandex undergarments to work, for sanitary purposes.”
Forget About Paddles
Forever mine, forever yours, we always have a state of transit between us and our breakthroughs, outbreaks, whatever you want to call them, those typical bursts of exquisite time unfolding through the mantelpiece and unimaginable pincushion sadness, tied together with grief and an inordinate number of pineapple chicken beak massacres.
It’s not as though we lose our typical digestion when something of this magnitude pops up, but there’s no telling the typical dragon-like experience necessary to be taken seriously around here for a change. If there were any kind of scrutiny to be had, scruples to withhold for times when tile melds with rock melds with bedrock melds with molten core, then we’d be in a different boat entirely.
But as it stands, there’s not even a raft in play here. Forget about paddles, there’s no way we can even keep above water long enough to contemplate navigating a body of water. We might be naturally buoyant, but there’s no reason to believe that floating like a cork for six hours is a given, even in the fairly gentle salty brine.
Bigfoot Carbon
It’s like I’m trying to crack
some Russian terrorist organization’s database
before the rubber ducky
explodes all over the train tracks
during the afternoon commute
away from the lovely metropolis
that affords so many people
the luxury of living 30 miles away
and commuting every day
to earn their big fat paychecks
while leaving bigfoot carbon prints
if they choose not to commute by rail.
But they can do anything they want,
because having substantial sums of money
makes a person immune from criticism
and the need to change lifestyle.
Subconscious to the Rescue
Pile the sandbags and twirl the belts,
we’re not gonna lose our dishes to the wind
if I have anything to say about it!
Pile it all up, all that crap you never expected
you’d need to keep the mental tempest at bay.
No use questioning it at this point,
your brain sent out the SOS two days ago,
and I sincerely apologize for arriving so late.
You’d never believe the cross-country traffic.
Hit the Road
With fists would be too bloody,
so we picked the feet instead.
Stomping full speed ahead
with soles at our disposal,
we fully intended to swing
by the 24-hour bakery for
some half-price doughnuts
and a snifter of cider
on the house (if Freddy
decided to be kind to us).
Our plans changed, and
we began flipping pancakes
until we could find
a tangible solution.
It struck me like butter
and I scraped my elbow
on the doorway as I
hurried outside to yell
“America knows the truth
about agribusiness
and systemic starvation
of impoverished nations,
just ask the government!”
A sniper’s round whizzed
past my ear and I took
no time getting out of there,
though I lost my clothes
while going so fast,
an issue that pops up
more often than you think it should.
WHARVED 