Gobble Day

"Sunday Visitors" by George Hughes

 Everybody's back for the holiday;

Daddy's got his football on and he's 

instructing them in the way they should go.

No! No! Up the middle every time!

Flag? What for, refs? Open your eyes!

Today's game brought to you by Target,

Chevy trucks, Placebonol, and Applebee's.

Big brother is blundering around,

chasing the dog with his squeaky.

He steps on little sis's foot--she says, Sorry!

Older sis is opining to cousin Lisa

about her and Kyle's new house and she's

fixing it up just the way it should be.

So these workers doing the tile,

they're hopeless! Mexican or something,

I might as well do it all myself!

Uncle's eyes are more glazed

than last year's ham. Bottoms up!

Mommy's in the kitchen stuffing the kids

and dressing the turkey. She's got spices

on the counter and gin in the cupboard.

No dear, thanks, I don't need any help

unless...could you set the table on the dishes?

Use the good salt and pooper shakers.

Daddy's really angry now, his blood pressure

high and his blood sugar low. Idiots! Dumbbells!

Lisa looks lobotomized. Older sis is still talking. 

Everybody's back for the holiday.

The dog drops his toy in the gravy boat;

Rough seas, Cap'n! shouts older bro

as the two of them high-tail it upstairs.

Mommy has basted the kids and taped

the potatoes to the fridge. 

I think that looks nice, don't you dear?

We always used to.... do something or...

Daddy shouts, Where's that bird?

Mommy collapses in a kitchen chair, crying.

Big bro and the dog come thundering downstairs.

Lisa has left, Uncle is face-down in the cranberries.

Oh, Kyle, it is chaos here, just chaos.

Are those workers doing the sun room today?

Well why not? Oh, right, I suppose.

Daddy shouts, What's wrong, Lillian? 

Mommy falls out of her kitchen chair laughing.

Granny screams, Merry Christmas!  

It's Gobble Day, Gramma. Mwah!

------------------

For What's Going On? "Feast"

A Divorce, 2001

 

I don't miss the arguments

or the madness,

the steady harsh hum of discord.

I don't miss hearing the dogs' toenails 

digging against the wood floor

as their sheltered world turned ugly.

I don't miss the eerie sound of

empty accusations

demanding confession of phantom sins.

I don't miss the sound of our son

begging you to stop smashing dishes

when I tried to escape to the bath.

I don't miss the slick drone of lawyers

or the jangle of keys to

homes changing hands. 

But when I sat down to eat

at the same table in a different kitchen

with the windows December-dark,

the silence wool-thick

and the opposite chair mute and empty,

I almost couldn't bear it--

almost couldn't face

the long wait for spring.

______

for What's Going On? -- "Silence"

Note: my divorce set me free, but at the time it was awful. I don't think I've ever written about it quite so baldly before. 

Don't forget, the Word Garden Word List is still active through Sunday!

Music: Gordon Lightfoot if There's a Reason

The Aztecs Have Abandoned Downtown

The Aztecs have abandoned downtown.

They used to row their canoes down the San Antonio river,

and sacrifice hearts to Huitzilipochtli down by the Cenotaph,

a stone's throw from the Alamo.

The police ran them off.

A few of them sold tee shirts and key chains in little shops in latter years, though,

and now they live in McMansions with sprawling lawns and gates,

though they're discouraged from displaying their enemies' heads on the points of their wrought-iron fences.

Things change. It's sad.

Now the Aztecs keep their feathers and paint in attics or long-term storage units,

too sentimental to throw them away.

They wear L.L. Bean and J. Jill. 

I'll open a crummy theater for third-run movies and call it the Aztec.

It'll be Pachuco heaven where truants can make out.

I'll know the cops by name and offer them coffee

while actresses younger than my kids tear out their hearts on screen for cokey actors in dumb costumes.

I will stay open as long as I can. Ars gratia artis.

________

for Sunday Muse #108, where I am hosting this week. I can't figure out the new dashboard to make this a link. Things always change. Pffft.

"Ars gratia artis", the slogan MGM used to use with the roaring lion, means "art for art's sake."

An American Sentence

Don't let me die in high summer; let there be frost and October rain.
_________

I know there doesn't have to be nature in an American Sentence, but I couldn't help myself. For Wednesday Muse.

Pearl Harbor

What you did before?
Can't do it anymore.
Shoulda done it when ya could've, say all the dark mothers,
whispering from the walls. 

Lookitcha.
Fat as a battle ship, slow as one, too.
Girrrrl.
Unh unh unh.

All that time, the Zeros were flying,
there you were,
lazy as an umbrella in last night's drink.

Now you're a mess, damn.
On fire and sinking,
feel like shit all the time, and might lose that breast. 

Steam for the mouth of the harbor,
and tell that stupid band to shut up.
Who the fuck are those guys in the planes, where'd they come from?

So many questions, you're so inquisitive! Let me try to answer.
No, this isn't a drill.
Yes, those are real bullets.
No, you never did anything to them; they don't even know you.
Yes, they're trying to kill you.

What's that last question you asked, dear?
On purpose? Bless your heart. They came out of the Sunday sky, that's all.
_______

The Night Jar

For the longest time,
the tin and phosphorous stars seemed to hold pose in the sky--
the jasmine night blooms dismissed notions of mourning,
and yellow-white candles embraced their wicks
as if flame were dreams,
and their bright sleep knew the gods' blessing to continue, endless.

For a charmed while,
the moon shrugged off her chill, orange-warmed by breezed leaves--
the nightjar hid herself along a wet-black branch above us,
and though she seemed to be only rhyme and rumor
tucked between pointed wings,
she carried her children in her mouth to move them, secretly.

For just those moments, however sustained or brief they really were,
everything around us bent kindly our way--
all green things, and all feathered,
brought us our own names and the desired other's
to build ourselves, our keenest hunger, and our softest satiety from.

We were there,
for the longest time,
for that charmed while,
for just those moments,

and then?
Then we weren't,
and the way back had burned behind us
as inevitable and harshly bright as sunrise.
_______

for Mag #205

A Simple Thing

it's a simple thing
to put away
half a white onion, a leftover ripe tomato,
and a half-gone jar of grated parmesan.

it's an easy motion
to pull the sleeves of my favorite long cardigan over my hands
as i hug myself
and stand staring out of the little window
above my kitchen sink.

the old refrigerator kicks on behind me,
and i wonder whether to read,
or go for a walk,
or if i should simply stand here quietly
while the dishes dry.

it's a simple thing
to miss someone.
is there a place for putting that away?
some easy compartment of the heart
that i can't find or imagine?

it's a simple thing,
but not easy,
to feel so uncertain and empty.
is something wrong with me, to feel this way?
and i wonder
does it ever stop?
_____

for the Get Listed challenge at Real Toads. I used just one word: "simple".

 

The Queen Of Picher

The Queen of Picher
loved the wife of a Baptist preacher
and every night she dreamed she kissed her
in a rowboat on the poisoned red waters of hell.

But it wasn't enough to dream it,
so she went down in the old mines to scream it
til her throat was raw as fresh-rolled sin
and she felt as bright as a Baptist bell.

On Saturday nights she ponder and think
of forty-five ways to wring a preacher's neck,
Then Sunday come and she sigh and sink
into an ass-killin' pew, and the sermon last a week.

Rock of ages,
cleft for me--
let me hide
this sweet burnin' desire for thee.

The Queen of Picher couldn't get her
self in hand, and so she kissed her only love
in broad daylight in the middle of town--

But knees and mines can both go weak,
and by the second kiss, the whole damn street
went down, baby, they fell through thin air straight down.

The Queen of Picher and the Baptist minister's
wife now lie entwined at the bottom of the shaft--
in the shadow of the chat heaps...
and that was that.

________

top photo by my friend Daryl Edelstein, featured today at Real Toads!

bottom photo is of an abandoned church in Picher. To learn about the modern day ghost town of Picher, Oklahoma, click HERE.

optional musical accompaniment available HERE. (opens in new window) 

Xmas Wish

They came a long way
to bring that kid swag.
They pretended not to notice
the livestock
and the funky digs.

Natch, it did finally shake down
to wood, nails, and vinegar,
but still, he blew it off
cos they didn't know what they'd done.

Me neither.
Can't you forgive me?
_______

for Words Count with Mama Zen at Real Toads.