Oriole

 

Lizzie Borden was alive in you,

in a dreary wooden way,

holding her breath for the next thing,

turning blue then gray.

You considered the wooden cradle

and me, of imperfect flesh

deciding you'd hate me not so much

were I made of ash.

Lay the axe at fireside,

move the cradle closer, too.

Your suicidal substitute

me in place of you.

The handle of the axe is made

from that which it destroys

in little bits and other shit

like broken burned-up toys.

But I, so like you in some ways

had asbestos in my soul

and rose away in sparks and smoke

like an orange oriole.

_______

for Sunday Muse #197. 

Armageddon Lullaby

Birds flew high above a world on fire.
Around my neck a river worn as below my body burned.
In my hair a water-garland where water birds turned.
All around, the black-robed dead, on legion ashen pyres.

I called to the birds above a world on fire.
Called and sang to the birds from my disintegrating throat.
The birds spun from glass and the heavens entire
were turned by my song first to whispers, then to smoke.

Around my neck I wore a childhood stream.
In my hair a feather garland made of swans and steam.
The world turned red, then orange, then white
and the birds to choristers of anthracite.
________

for Sunday Muse #89. And for the world in flood and fire.

Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, mirror
on the wall,
who's the fairest
of them all?

THAT bitch?!? Mirror, please.
I ask a simple question and you start trippin'.
Whatever you're on, I hope there's enough for the rest of us, cos
you just got on my bad side big time.

Look, I know
I've kinda hit a bad stretch.
How was I supposed to know that that borrowed car 
had anything stashed inside the door panels?
Mirror,
I've done ninety on that road lots of times,
oh but THIS time there has to be a motorcycle cop.
What's with those stupid sunglasses anyway?

"Hi, I'm a stupid cop wearing stupid sunglasses.
Whip out your license, and registration, please."
I may have protested.
I may have exercised my American right to free speech.
He still didn't have to arrest me and take the car to impound.

I got some night court public defender named Larry.
Really???
And of course, Mirror, the judge has to be this dried up old witch
who looks like she lemon-scrubbed her sink with her face.
"Young woman," she said,
as if I had personally dashed her last hope in humanity.
"Young woman, I hereby sentence you to..."

Mirror, Sally Supermodel would look like shit in an orange jumpsuit.
They SUCK.
And just TRY to get any decent product for your hair in jail.
Why, Mirror, if I hadn't have demonstrated my French trick for Larry,
he would never have helped me escape.
You know that, right?
So stop with the judgy look.

Mirror, I may have picked up a skin problem running through those woods.
It itches.
And I've been living in this utility shed for five days,
talking this kid at Tasty Bird out of a few drumsticks just to survive.

So.
I toss you a total softball of a question.
My old mirror would have known exactly what to say,
the way women do with each other,
building connections, lying our heads off.
Figures I would get the only male mirror in the state.
Where did you come from, anyway?
Boot camp?
Some strip club on 8 Mile Road?
Why ME, God?!?

Luckily, I have my trusty compact.
Watch and learn, dumbass Mirror.
Compact, compact, 
in my hand,
who's the fairest
in the land?

ME!
See? Me. 
Diogenes, did you have your phone out?
Did you capture that Golden Moment?
I AM BEAUTY.
Fuckinay, Mirror.
Fuckinay.
________

for Hannah's "mirror" challenge at Real Toads.

image by Roberta Tocco.

Ode For A Young Beauty

An ode for you, my swan-necked sylph
grown tall and fine by afternoon--
a gamin grown where asters bloom;
precocious, prideful, pretty elf--

Expediency is your diadem;
your flower's face an asterisk--
the reaper's scythe exposes quick
your thin, deceiving, hollow stem.
_______