In The Year Of

In the year of the pestilence,
in the time of the puppet government,
we fell in love.

We held hands, and gamboled 
as others doubled over and died.

In the year of the pogrom,
in the hour of the public noose,
we were giddy,

and grateful for our milky corneas
our couplings, and our luck.
________ 

another starry-eyed love poem for flash 55.

Tar Baby

If I don't answer the phone, by all means,
keep calling until I pick up.
A light touch was never something you understood.

As my phone makes its missed-call chime again and again,
I think of something I haven't thought of in years.
Tar Baby didn't have to do anything but show up and sit there,
to drive Brer Rabbit nuts.
The more Brer Rabbit tried to fight,
the more stuck he got, as I recall.

The youngest in the house by a decade,
I was an ace scavenger.
One of my favorite things was the box of old 78's
that I could play on the big cabinet record player.
The radio part had never worked, that I could remember,
but how I loved to put a record on that soft old turntable
and set the needle down so I could listen.

Little Orley,
Song Of The South,
and all the others left behind by children no longer children,
could fill an afternoon for me, 
and I loved nothing better than to sing along! And dance!

Along you'd come, saying here, take some of this.
It's good for you.
Pretty soon I couldn't stay awake,
asleep among my records on the floor.
I didn't know then, about codeine,
but it sure could shut a kid up for a few hours, I bet.

Once, I woke up around dinner time to find my dad sitting by the bed,
watching me, looking worried.
Overdosed me, didn't you?
Didn't count on me still being out when he got home.
There was no more take-this-its-good-for-you after that.

The chime on my phone goes off again.
Missed call.
You'd like me to talk to you now, now that I'm out of reach,
but it's too late, Tar Baby--
I learned the way to stay unstuck
is to give you a wide berth,
stay alert,
and sing for myself if I damn well want to.
______ 

for Kerry's flashback moment at Real Toads

Near-Sighted MacFiggin & The Coquette

Professor MacFiggin,
whose vision was blurred,
was dining on pheasant
or some kind of bird

when he heard a voice
belonging to Fran--
a wasp-waisted lady
in search of a man.

"Enjoy some wine!"
(He hoped it would tweak her)
so he held a carafe
which was really a beaker

he'd brought from his lab,
filled with--well--something
that could not have been wine
but it set his heart thumping.

"I've got giant white caterpillars
here on my cheeks,"
he said with a smile,
"and they've been there for weeks!"

"I've got a crustacean
perched on my head,"
said Fran, quite boldly
suggesting they wed.
_______

Cafe In Paris by Joaquin Sorolla

for Hedgewitch's mini-challenge at Real Toads to write something in "approximately 100 words or less." This is 106. Goddess love approximation!