the power of tens

i keep finding tens--
dimes every time i look down,
and a ten dollar bill near the bus stop on the ground.

ones and zeros at my feet--
I am Bo Peep of the real world,
a human video game for the spirits, perhaps.

Change, are you keen to kick my ass?
it gets harder to get up again, each time.
Goddess bless Aleve, and my Catholic notion that I must somehow have it coming.

tens, made of beginnings and ciphers.
everything is nothing is everything.
Buddha, go away, I don't like men very much, especially not cagey ones.

does nobody just say what they mean anymore?
what's with all these dimes?
how much coffee can i drink, trying to give my lips something to do?

Franklin Roosevelt is my distant familial relative.
i've been to Hyde Park and felt the soul tree shake.
it grows again, here, dropping dimes, and i say caller, caller are you there?

Alexander Hamilton doesn't ring any bells for me--
he must not have been an altar boy,
and anyway, i never go to Mass, or meetings, anymore.

i'm tired. i'm getting old. 
all i wanted was someone close at hand to write for,
but everything is nothing is everything seems out of reach.

i have felt this way before, and then something new opened up ahead.
i don't believe it very much anymore, but though i'm feeling lost, and stuck,
i am Bo peep of the real world, and i

keep finding change.
___________

not really a poem, but still

"Be that girl who never backed down."
Sounds good on paper.
Sounds fierce, but I don't know what kind of girl,
what kind of woman,
that could even be.

Never backing down is the stuff of certain mens' conversations;
you know, the ones with the flags in their back windows
just above the plastic beer coolers.

If you want love in your life,
if you want peace,
if you are wise enough to choose your battles and think,
then you must learn the art of backing down. 

There are words for those who never back down, and they aren't pretty:
bitch
blowhard
zealot
tyrant
Reverend
Grand Dragon
case #
inmate #
the Republican senator from--

Backing down doesn't mean giving up.
Those who have pissed off
the woman who prepares their food,
the woman who delivers their mail,
the woman who buys their wives' birthday gifts,
the woman whose hand rocks the cradle,
have found this out
no matter how long it took for the other shoe to drop.

Of course, there are times for not backing down.
The Sioux and Sans Arc taught this to Colonel Custer.
The women inside the Alamo,
who could have left, but chose to stay with their brave men,
demonstrated this.
There were no pop divas inside those adobe walls,

but there were willows at San Jacinto.
That's all I have to say.
_________ 

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.

Marry the Moon

I'm keen to marry the moon--
she has my heart--
I have my dress--
all the crows in captivity stacked up in the west.

What am I supposed to do
with that golden bitch the sun?
She preen--
she pose--
she think she better than everyone.

I made a deal with the dark.
I said, "bring my baby here,
when she a sliver before she grows.
I'll bootleg you the stars
and nobody needs to know."

I'm keen to marry the moon
with her down-low ways and hyena laugh--
she has my heart--
I have my dress--
now all I need--
her ask, my yes.
__________
 

Opening My Heart

I opened my heart,
but it was no Up With People moment.
It hurt, so I worried at it
until it cracked and split.

From within,
a small dragon.
I fed her Poe and Rimbaud,
Ferlinghetti and Neko Case.

She grew and ate Detroit,
then was sick on the rug.
I led her on a chain,
her head searching side to side
and her haunches high.

Now she's Out, breathing fire.
Beautiful. Angry.
Loose.
_____

73 words for Words Count with Mama Zen at Real Toads

This is snot the way to court me

He felt called upon to improve my poetry,
and so, unsolicited, sent to me
a rewriting of my latest verse,
done over in shades from bad to worse.

Wasn't this presumption enough?
No, it was snot.

It did not seem to occur to him
that a creature such as me, so frail, so dim,
would react with anything less than gratitude--
imagine his offended surprise at my att-i-tude.

Wasn't my pointed silence enough?
No, it was snot.

Thank you, sir, for your ham-handed edit,
your testosterone hubris, and refusal to get it.
Thank you, dear dumbass, dear pencil dick fuckwit,
for trying help this mere girl be more literate.

However, I must decline future offers of assistance.  I am not worthy.


Delicately,

Fireblossom
__________

I took a swipe at writing something vaguely Sara Teasdale-ish for Real Toads, but somehow Catblossom got involved and...well, what can I say?

Another Owl And Pussycat

I am not quite rooted in reality,
and yet you seem to be
a little fond of me all the same.

You call your cat Bast, after the Egyptian,
and she subscribes to that mythology.
Likewise, if I show up with Athena's owl borrowed upon my shoulder,
you are keen to hold her and to tell her how fine she obviously is.

The only ring we are ever going to have
is the one made of silver light upon your bedroom floor,
where Bast curls up with her lunatic dreams.
Athena's owl asks for a bed post perch, and never the slightest thing more.

I am not quite rooted in reality, and yet
you always forgive me and share your room,
where my only wish is to be with you
and dance by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
together by the light of the moon.
_______

I have referenced, of course, Edward Lear's "The Owl & The Pussycat" for Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads.

Re: the picture up top: when I was little, every day I would pretend I was some kind of different animal or bird, so much so that the man next door started asking me "What are you today?" I'm an adult now, though, and besides, everyone knows I'm a cheetah. ;-)