you might find my calling card
and have to fuck with it while juggling groceries and your keys,
your life a tough clog, the door a riddling Sphinx.
You might think me too quaint to take seriously,
wrapped in my shawl, a book under my arm.
You're in, setting shit down, taking a breath, but there's the bell--
who, now? Just me, peddling anarchy,
slipping the dynamite stick into your mail slot;
whispering baby talk to the bomb I made and set on a doily
at your doorstep, a shy and retro demonstration
of my love for you, and my devotion to things fashioned by firelight
and brought back, bursting, from a sweeter past.
_____
the way your mind works, ms. fireblossom, i'd dare not turn my back on you. ;)
ReplyDeleteShy & retro till ignited righteously!
ReplyDeleteALOHA from Honolulu
Comfort Spiral
=^..^=
Thank God for literary agents of chaos. Posts like this one really make me smile. I'll now have happy thoughts of bomb makers cooing to their creations :-)
ReplyDeletelike being punched in the face with a velvet-gloved hand, only with explosives ~
ReplyDeleteLove is always peddling anarchy, but seldom so bewitchingly. I firmly believe old-fashioned females were every bit as capable as any liberated ones--they just had to be more devious; in fact, spent their whole lives learning how to play games--this is one who savored the dish served cold, with an explosive and somehow very satisfying fiery sauce.
ReplyDeleteI love the mix of flavors here--the old fashioned, the anarchist--the lover--really wonderful!
ReplyDeleteI love the f-ing with the calling card while juggling groceries.......a little worried about the cooing to the bomb which is declaring one's love.....hee hee. Love the whole idea of an old fashioned anarchist.
ReplyDelete. . . pedaling anarchy. Love that.
ReplyDeleteThe bombs bursting in air... Don't underestimate us elders.
ReplyDeleteYou don't see many Doily's these days...Good one FB!
ReplyDeleteI seriously adore this.
ReplyDelete