I found some time to do these this afternoon. Once I got going I could not stop, as so often happens.
one minute to six o’clock
the clock shouts Make way for the first notes of the polka
it grabs my hand and we take off across the floor
I paint the stairwell walls green
I carpet the treads in a branching pattern
I pretend I’m climbing a tree every time I go upstairs
the lawyer writes love letters to his girlfriend
in a high nasal whine
the same tone he uses in the courtroom
I had to find a way to starve
feeding on my utter exhaustion
The night leaps forward
I cannot sleep
Instead I write poetry in my head
that I do not remember in the morning
a yellow pencil can help you get there
not complicated, this kitchen spell you cast:
it’s lard it’s flour it’s salt Poof! a flaky thin pastry crust!
Then – Why does it never work for me?
You having just paid $400
for a jar of face cream
Now you hint that I should buy you lunch?
when it comes to married life
never goes out of style
She admired herself arrayed in the
neat contours of this indigo-striped
the magical sunrise
pardons our lack of faith
the goodness a new day could bring
I sew red buttons on my sweater
in the hope
the right person will pick up the signal
the potato who realizes
having survived peeling and boiling
it will now be mashed
a sensation of individual
compressed consciousness exploded:
tomatoes through the juicer splot into the bowl
her new novel a ballet of synonyms
partnered with puzzling verb forms
A modern dance that confounds me
Yet she is my best friend. I read it.
the front door
winded and gasping
after admitting two hundred eighty party guests in one hour
however you package your apology
the postage is always insufficient
for the weight of your guilt
the mirror witnesses that weird dance you do
putting on your pantyhose
if it could speak it would say
please buy a bigger size
a surname treks throughout the records
trails in determined pursuit
what a fastidious plagiarist he is
any anecdote you tell him
it will undergo a professional refresh
then to be resold as his own
the cow lines up downhill toward
the clique that rejected her
hard to believe that just a few hours ago
we were watching
a python doing back flips
the mouth that stops saying them
one sentence after it should have
no longer than the tines of a fork
the millions of livid creatures advanced
each one hungering to participate
in its own deadly anecdote
I did it to spite him
It’s unsettling that
he thanked me for it
a whole lot of noise in the basement
the utility room bouncing and gyrating
carefully machined metal parts spraying all over
8 thoughts on “Little Vines 12/2/21”
5395 of course. And 5403 immediately made me think of Tom Paxton “Don’t Slay that Potato”. (K)
I love so many of these but 408 wins for me. I’ve missed reading these.
Thank you and glad to see you again.
You’re welcome! Glad to be back.
We found some time to read these this afternoon.
Once we got going we could not stop,
as so often happens. ;o)
You made me laugh! Glad you enjoy these because I do enjoy creating them.
I loved #92 first, then #99, but then the potato!!! A clear winner. Such trauma!
Thank you. When I was little, my mother made mashed potatoes out of a mix in a box. Said it was too much trouble to boil and mash potatoes. But my grandmother, who was a lovely cook of traditional Southern US food, thought otherwise and at her house (where I spent a lot of time) potatoes went to their designated destiny almost every night. I remember wondering, quite young, if they could feel the hot water or getting their skins peeled, but my grandmother said no. I was not sure. I am still not sure.
Comments are closed.