.jpg) |
| image by Corinne Geersten |
Ghosts don't normally send fire through the mail, but they tend
to be a little bit muzzy-headed, the dead.
Water stamps temper these communications slightly
but flame is a Gypsy and wanders brightly,
making suggestions of passion on the carpets where they end.
Greta, not knowing she is dead, not knowing she's a shade,
sends these immolations postage-paid
and if such silly wooden houses go up, if roofs collapse,
then their occupants' lives, like hers, will lapse
and you can't fight infernos with a lemonade glass.
Poor Greta, sharing hell with the taciturn Unabomber,
who wishes all kinds of ill upon her,
who stinks and mumbles and never changes clothes or shaves
so that when one letter is returned to sender
she will blow and burn so that none can mend her.
Lonely Greta, sullen Ted
with a packed pipe and a black rose on their summer-dry graves.
_______
for Sunday Muse #214.
I always love your story poems Shay! They are always clever and stick with you like a hardy meal. I love the idea of a flame being a gypsy wandering brightly! Greta, you gotta feel for her situation dead or alive! Love this my friend!
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed the labels as much as the only-could-have-been-written-by-you poem. Smiles.
ReplyDeleteI crazy love this. Unabomber pipe bombs from the dead! That needs to be added to our lexicon of the psychology of death and dying. Therapist: "Well, sometimes we get letter bombs from the dead, and it is normal to feel like your arm was blown off by the memory of your father." How you made all that rhyme so effortlessly is astounding.
ReplyDeleteLove this--the flaming mail and the impression that Greta was a little too obsessed with order.
ReplyDeleteI love this, Shay. How you make doom sound glamorous and beautiful is beyond me. You're one of the very few who pull it off. So many gorgeous images and lines. Love these:
ReplyDelete"Ghosts don't normally send fire through the mail, but they tend
to be a little bit muzzy-headed, the dead."
"but flame is a Gypsy and wanders brightly"
"not knowing she is dead, not knowing she's a shade"
And the rhyme is effortless :-)
Oh, I have missed reading your work. There is so much to love in this, a truly dead romance :) only you could create. Love it!
ReplyDeleteHow could you not love this? Your rhyming is practically invisible. And the story is classic Shay. (That should be a thing - a poem being Shayesque).
ReplyDeletei like how this poem laughs in the face endless rage.
ReplyDelete"but flame is a Gypsy and wanders brightly,
making suggestions of passion on the carpets where they end."
lots of great lines in this shay, but that one sparked my mind
What a romp this is, Greta-ghost, wages a losing battle against fiery inferno, water stamps, all of it brilliant! Frankie Lymon! Great touch / "and now how do you do"
ReplyDelete