Monday, March 9, 2009

Chloe



Chloe took to living on the golf course

After her parents and she

Could not agree.


Chloe had burned down the garage.

Her parents had objected.

Chloe had expressed her dislike of cheerleaders.

The authorities had intervened.

Chloe had asserted her innocence.

A jury of her peers had found otherwise.


But,

The judge who overturned the decision thought her appeal had merit--

He'd liked the way she'd crawled straight across his desk like that,

Sending tedious paperwork and awards to the floor.

He'd rarely met an applicant so eloquent.


Chloe, born

On a sunny Sunday in May,

With girlish grace

And fairy face,


Took to living on the golf course.

It was green,

If not strictly included under the language of her parole.


Some men enjoy playing golf--

Some of them to a degree never intended by God.


On a day when Saturn and Mars lined up like a gimme putt,

Retiree Bob Newburg parked his cart at the second hole, par four

And got out.

He was wearing

A white mesh bill cap,

A knit shirt with a little logo on the pocket,

And yellow polyester golf slacks.

Such a man could never survive for long in the wild.


Because Bob Newburg's attention was fixed

On remedying a persistent slice,

He was oblivious

To the young woman he had disturbed.


Chloe was just dragging a fresh kill up into the safety

Of a nearby sycamore.

Upon being interrupted,

Her perfect face became the perfect expression

Of indignant fury.


"For chrissakes, Bob!" exclaimed a shaky-voiced Don Parkley

Upon discovering what remained of his golf partner.


Chloe

Looked down from a high branch,

Her eyes as clear and calm as summer moons.


Chloe born

On a sunny Sunday in May,

With girlish grace

And fairy face,


Now resides inside the Elizabeth Hitchins Maximum Security Facility For Women

In Coldwater, Michigan.


She works in the inmate stitchery

Making little samplers for the Department of Corrections gift shop,

And has never once felt sorry

About anything.

______________


( I recently visited K's fine blog Interstitial Life and left a rather over-the-top comment off the top of my head. I later decided it deserved to be expanded. The result is "Chloe." Thank you, K, for posing the question of the difference between being "tame" and being "domesticated.")

18 comments:

Kristin H. said...

OMG I love this one!

Jannie Funster said...

Dear Lord, Lady. Have you always been like this? Your imagination, that is? I think that is something that's born in the bones, not acquired as you go about your years.

Bravo!

Scarlet said...

Brilliant!

"She works in the inmate stitchery making little samplers for the Department of Corrections gift shop..." I love that! :)

momcat said...

That's so weird it could be real!

Shadow said...

how i love your writing, the humour that filters though, mixed in gently with the dark side, wonderful!

K said...

For the record - I love over the top comments.

I love the poem. Thanks for the shout out.

I like to be reminded how close humans really are to the animal kindgom.

Kelly Dickson said...

this mesmerised me, i followed the thread of your words like a loyal mutt but secretly wishing to identify with the feral side of chloe. You give expression to the female psyche that is so trod upon. bravo.
Kx
p.s some of the words that the google word verfication conjure up are weird. I got gulatess!

Mama Zen said...

I adore Chloe. I want Chloe to meet the succubus!

"Some men enjoy playing golf--
Some of them to a degree never intended by God."

And, that's hilarious.

Daryl said...

Oh poor Bob ..

Fireblossom said...

Hi Kristin! I'm glad you liked. :-)

Yes Jannie, tis me within, and this is me; twas always thus and thus shall be.

Scarlet, I had fine time creating that whole prison/gift shop sequence. I'm waiting for someone to spot my little joke in naming the facility.

All my poems are from life, Momcat. Nice to see you!

Thank you, Shadow, I always love your comments.

Indeed, K. Closer than we generally like to think.

Oh, you just like tigers, Kelly! I loved your comment. Thanks!

Now there's an idea, Mama Zen! I can feel the wheels starting to turn already. And, um, any golfer who appears in my poetry is likely to meet a bad end. Any sport whose name originates from "Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden" is never going to catch a break from me.

Hi Daryl! Well yes, poor Bob, but he DID disturb a lady at her lunch.

Riot Kitty said...

This is sad! However I loved the line about her burning down the garage and her parents disagreeing.

vicariousrising said...

Eek! Although Chloe reminds me of the main character in the movie Ginger Snaps.

Zerilda The Superfluous Blogger said...

um....I'm gonna be real careful on the golf course from now on...

I'll be fixing *my* slice immediately...

I love that she did these things with her girlish grace. That is always the perfect way to do things.

Mama Zen said...

Law and Order: Criminal Intent?

Pouty Lips said...

"Now resides inside the Elizabeth Hitchins Maximum Security Facility For Women" AKA the prison for the annoyingly undead.

It took me a long time to make it through this one because I kept having to stop and regain my composure from laughing so hard. That bit about Bob Newburg just tickled my funny bone.

Fireblossom said...

Hehe, RK. Nobody uses their garages anyway!

Stay tuned for "Chloe Snaps Back"!

My mother always said that one should always do things with grace. She never said homicide was any different.

YES! Mama Zen wins the right to suggest my next poem with a one word prompt. Elizabeth Hitchins was the alias of Nicole Wallace, Detective Goren's arch-nemesis! My favorite show.

Now Pouty, Daryl felt badly for old Bob. What does it say about us that we find so much humour in the misfortunes of others? ;-)

Pouty Lips said...

"For chrissakes, Bob!" exclaimed a shaky-voiced Don Parkley upon discovering what remained of his golf partner. Chloe looked down from a high branch,her eyes as clear and calm as summer moons."

Ok, in an effort to feel Bob's pain I read this again. But Chloe is still up in the tree whilst Bob's friend finds him in who knows what kind of Chloe-form. Even the way you spelled "chrissakes" is funny. It's ironic and funny to me.

Fireblossom said...

Ironic? Me?

I am loving "Chloe-form."

Bob was a foil and fodder for Chloe. She was merely culling the herd. They would only starve in the winter if she didn't.