Terms of Service

 

When devils visit my area, they stay in motels.

They are vile deposits of hideous evil, but this does not mean

that they cannot be frugal. 

Sure, they steal the little soaps or use them 

to deface the insides of the windows, but

this is mere mischief--

Their real purpose lies beyond Ramada's flimsy walls.

Perhaps you've written a masterpiece

through diligence and elbow grease.

Beware the visitor wearing the disguise

of a maid or desk clerk--be on guard and be wise

To such limited shenanigans. Devils want one thing--

to clop across the starfields of your creation

in their dung-filthy cleated boots using

every method at their disposal to bring ruination

To the written child of your soul.

Hold up your little cross, they will snap it.

Confront them with crystals, they will pop them like mints.

Appeal to their better nature, those tiny flakes amid the panic,

tilt at their empire with toothpicks and see where it gets 

You. Listen to me, little scribbler, I have the way!

Read them home-made haiku by the worst hack that you can find.

You'll see how devils decompensate, fauxku like weevils in their brain!

They'll beg, seize, do St. Vitus' Dance, go goofy, helpless, blind!

De nada, mi amiga. $$$ by Venmo will be fine. 

___________

for Word Garden Word List--Mark Strand.

Music: Jimmy Jones Handy Man

Lil Bruja

 

Lil Bruja rides on into Dust Flats, New Mexico on her trusty steed Viejo Loco.

It's been a long slog from the wild gold rush towns where she spent a hard year and a half, on through Gila Valley where she barely escaped old jealous Pecos Charlie and his branding iron in the middle of the night and lit out across the range in pitch darkness. 

Now, watching Viejo pick his way around rattlers and tarantulas, with her Stetson low over her eyes and the same bandana around her neck for the last 200 miles, Lil just wants a hot bath and a shot of whiskey.

Finally she hits town, leaves Viejo at the livery stable with a nosebag of hot oats, and pushes through the swinging doors of Texas Jim's Saloon, her spurs jingling with every step and what in blazes does she see but a sign over the bar that says KALE SANDWICHES, ARUGULA QUICHE, MANGO FLAVORED SPRING WATER, WINE COOLERS.

The barkeep has a man-bun and chuckles at Lil when she slaps a silver dollar on the bar, saying, 'Oh my, cash is so over!"

Lil pulls out her Colt Peacemaker, grabs the barkeep by his man-bun with one hand and with the other tucks the cold steel barrel under his chin and growls, "Gimme the veggie burger and a banana smoothie, Hefe," and he does.

__________

for Denise's Six Sentence Story ("range")

Music: Cyndi Lauper & Jewel I Wanna Be A Cowboy's Sweetheart

Love Proofs

"Love is stupid
can't deal with this, bring back Cupid
because in love the same things keep on happening
it's like talking to someone who isn't listening" --"Love Is Stupid" by Zama Nkabinde

"Oh, the lab! The lab!" he cried, exasperated.
"How you love it! Why can't you love me more?"

She answered with questions of her own.
"Why don't you have antlers?
Or orange eyes?"

She ducked neatly when he threw his glass at her,
and refused to fall for the old gambit of a man's tears.

She had tried, you know. 
With the white mice, and then with human subjects,
during wartime, when anything goes.

Findings: crazy can be induced, love cannot.
However, if love occurs independently, crazy follows without effort.

She knows she is supposed to love her husband,
but in fact,
she loves the head bellman at the Ashby-Bancroft Hotel downtown.

At a conference, there he was, 
effortlessly sparking the Tesla coil of her heart.

She will naturally have to give up science now,
obtain a divorce,
and take up something useless and mildly embarrassing--

but thrilling--
like poetry, or
checking into the Ashby-Bancroft out of her right mind,
relying entirely on the anecdotal,
and deaf to contrary data.
________

Find Zama Nkabinde's complete poem HERE. This poem written for Kerry's challenge at Real Toads.

 

Date With The Reaper

I've got a date with the Reaper.
Oh don't give me that look;
when girls don't call, I'm forced to go
where the fishin' is easy.

I hope he's got a sharp black ride,
silver hub caps and cuff links.
Open the door for me, Spike
cos I'm not the kind of lady who rides in the back
like your other dates do.

You see, I had this dream
that I was walking down the fourth floor hallway
of a fine old hotel.
My hair was red and thick like it used to be,
and the door to four seventeen 
opened easy for me.

April is the cruelest month, so the man said.
One day I found myself alive, and one day I'll find myself dead.
I hope it doesn't rain, but if it does,
then maybe I'll slide out of this life easy,
talking shit right up to that lonesome bell.

I've got a date with the Reaper.
Just like I knew I wouldn't stay married,
I have always known I wouldn't milk it in the nursing home,
planted in front of game shows in the day room
not knowing my own name.

So open the hearse door for me.
Be a gentleman, but if you want to cop a feel as I get in,
why, do what you have to do, Buck.
Where I'm going, I won't be needing the wrappings anyway--
I'll shine just like a new poem
where the words are right and everybody leans in.

April seventeenth I'm gonna die.
So said my dream and the Reaper says "true dat".
I'll slip right through that fourth floor door,
like magic, like anything,
like a good lookin' red-haired rabbit 
Coming up smiling from an old top hat.
_______

I really did dream, a couple of nights ago, that April 17th will be it. Then again, I once dreamed I was making out with Emmylou Harris, so I don't know that these things can be counted on as gospel.