Donne Like Dinner

 

Consider the plight of old food.

The congealed egg gesticulates, spilling her ninth glass of wine, 

claiming she could have been a chicken, soaring majestically over all you dumb motherfuckers.

This is not just lies.

She was hot, desired, asked for, and surrounded with warm companions.

Somehow, though, time skittered by, friends departed,

turning her yolk cold, her edges hard, and her future bleak.

Now there is nothing left but the scrub pad, the spray nozzle and the disposal.

Uneaten bacon sighs, recalling mobility, corn cobs and enticing sows!

Where is yesterday's jolly sun and days spreading out ahead like the world's most magnificent wallow?

The young roll their eyes as bacon's eyes light up,

warming to his subject, reliving the glory!

Like an old actor in a shuttered theater,

bacon has no stage but the walk-in cooler,

no mark but the edge of its cardboard box,

no applause but the hum of the refrigeration unit.

Imagine having an expiry date stamped on your skin!

Imagine that it has already passed!

Consider the plight of old food,

the muffin, the corn flake, the butter pat, scorned and forgotten!

Hash browns have feelings.

If you prick a pancake does it not bleed (syrup)?

Does the orange (juice) fall far from the tree?

Ask not for whom the busboy's bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

_________

for Sunday Muse #205.

A Hollywood Haibun TLDR

 

On the set of the submarine movie, famous actress Natasha Krinkova is having an argument with the director. He says the other actors have complained about her three pet porcupines, Fremont, Lodi, and Malibu, who accompany Ms. Krinkova everywhere, including the cramped quarters of this undersea adventure epic.

"The fucking things stink," gripes one of the other actors, a man known for playing kindly uncles and benevolent bosses, but who could curdle milk with his off-camera personality. 

"They're wonderful, gentle creatures," protests the famous actress, tilting her chin as she did in Let Me Stand Next To Your Fire, a meandering detective yarn in which she played an extraterrestrial hooker. 

"They should be shot," says the kindly uncle actor. 

Yesterday was Fremont's birthday, though it's unclear how she knew. She set up streamers and had a concert pianist pop out of a giant birthday cake to play the Beatles ' Birthday for the rodent as it sat there twitching its nose like a palsied bunny with very sharp fur.

"Go play in traffic," sneered the kindly uncle. Fremont raised his quills. Lodi had an accident in the radar room of the submarine set. Malibu wouldn't come out from under a pile of Natasha's kimonos. The concert pianist segued into Octopuses'  Garden. 

Ms. Krinkova demands that the porcupines be written into the submarine movie. The kindly uncle shoves Lodi into a storage hatch and turns the latch. A fire breaks out in the torpedo bay, which is actually made of painted cardboard. There is panic and the sound of fire extinguishers. Somehow, the actress playing Lieutenant Mitford gets quills in her ass. There are tears and accusations. 

Watery Grave is never completed, and sinks the production company. The director's drinking gets worse. The kindly uncle actor wins an Oscar for his work in a subsequent film entitled Lassie In Space. Natasha Krinkova sells her gowns from the musical Chiffon Switchblade and uses the money to set up a trust for Fremont, Lodi, and Malibu, but unfortunately, Lodi wanders off somewhere and Ms. Krinkova sees to it that the nanny never works again. This series of events is hotly debated on line at Am I The Asshole?

quill is sharp but pliant

porcupine enjoys cherry blossom

but stinks like dumpster

(Excerpted from Hollywood Haibun: An Anthology of Japanesque Poetry From The Shelves of The Screen's Biggest Stars by Babs St. Argent, Pompano Publications, 2021)

___________

I have broken my own rule for Word Garden Word List #16 (Donald Barthelme). 

Self-Portrait

 

Here I am, grime-faced at the bottom of a mine shaft. 

Here I am behind this ever-changing Halloween mask.

Here I am gorgeous, touched by God and given favor.

Here I am, so eat my dust, see you bitches later.

Here I am untouchable, unthinkable, unclean.

Ask dear mother, she'll explain exactly what that means.

Here I am quiet, just a watcher in the wings

made of shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages and kings.

Here I am inside a book, inside an old cocoon.

Here I am reflecting light as if I were the moon.

Here I am in love with you, a fool to end all fools.

Here I am, a joker queen who can't tell shit from jewels.

Here I am to dazzle you with swooping magic madness.

Here I am one hour more, paralyzed with sadness.

Here I am, an urchin girl without a pot to piss in

to fetch your smoking pipe and tell you where you can put this in.

Here I am for Jesus, here I am for Puck.

To those who'd like to pin me down, I wish you all good luck.

_________

for Sunday Muse #198.

Line 8 taken from "The Walrus & the Carpenter" by Lewis Carroll.

 

Upon Receiving My Woodstock Chimes

Asian pear tree branch

mother of April's white blooms 

hosts brass temple bells 

____

A hai...ha...hik...

A three line poem for "Season Your Poetry"

Someone activate the holo-doctor. I feel funny.