You tottered against my side
In black fur ankle boots
And sang: “O Lord,
Won’t you buy me
A Mercedes Benz.”
As we crossed to the car
Of a mutual friend
I witnessed, half unwillingly,
Your shining face,
Your unbound hair,
The metal belt around your hips,
Your tiny lips,
Your jeans, blue as the sky in spring,
Your short suede jacket
With matching mittens,
Dark red,
Your gentle gestures, luminous,
My bearish body
Looming over us.
Once upon a time, there was a young couple living in the lower east side of downtown Manhattan. Jan and Dave had no complaints and were living a comfortable life in the Big Apple. One day while dave was on his way home from work, Jan began making dinner. She reached for the jar of anchovies and, upon emptying the little fishes into a pan, she noticed a small note at the bottom of the jar. At closer inspection, she noticed a phone number on it. Curious, she dialed. After the connection had been made, a voice at the other end said: “Don’t move, lady; we’ll be right over!”
Frightened, she hung up the phone. When she turned around she found three men standing there in long sheets of cellophane who carried her to a waiting car which drove her to an international airport where they loaded her onto a waiting jetliner. Frightened and confused, she blacked out.
Upon awakening, she found herself in a strange foreign language speaking nation. In desperation, she found sanctuary in the arms of a handsome secret agent. With his kiss still warm upon her lips, he betrayed her to a group of mad scientists who performed strange experiments which until then had only been done using rare insects.
Meanwhile, back in New York . . .
Dave had been drinking heavily since Jan’s disappearance and had been visiting many of the local bars in the neighborhood. While residing at one of his more frequented bars, someone flipped on the television set located above the bottles of spirits. “… Welcome to … Bowling for Dollars!” said a voice from the TV. Dave looked up in a dizzy stare.
“Hey, Dave, there sure is something familiar about that bowling ball,” said another one of the locals in a low, sly voice.
To this remark, Dave’s face lit up in a frenzied horror as he screamed “Oh my God!!! That bowling ball— It’s my wife!!!”
The moral of this story is: NEXT TIME YOU PLACE YOUR ORDER, DON’T FORGET TO SAY: “No Anchovies, please.”
Winds sculpt leafy boughs.
Water winds its way urchin to the land.
Trees firm and strong kiss rain-storms
in their delirious trance.
She walks toward heaven
delicately as a leaf.
Her smiles are melodies from trees.
Her laughter fresh as summering days,
She is ever touching me.
In those moments we are free.
from notes of 5/29/82 rev. 12/28/86
– Sigmund Weiss
by Terry MacDonnell
Cloistered upstairs,
We were not allowed to see Father
When he came.
However, one fateful Sunday
We crept down the stairs
To sneak a peek at him.
There, at the foot of the stairs,
His face livid with rage,
He was twisting Mother’s arm
Behind her back
(Trying to compel her
To go back with him).
I armed myself with Tinker Toys
And flung them at him.
My sister did the same.
He released Mother’s arm
And said,
“Now see what you’ve done, Bea.
You’ve even got the children
Against me.”
the booming of these damn fireworks
excite everyone
young and OLD with their ooohs and ahhhs contribute
to
such stupidity
the glare lights the heavens and makes the angels
visible
to a clear vision
this seems like a good time to be alone
with
desperation
– Johnny Cooper
Spread Softly
about my soul
sleep,
like a blanket,
tucks me in
for the night
– Scarlett Faith
