"beret" poems
the other day i sat alone having lunch in a McDonalds.
i found the Big Mac enjoyable and the wedge fries good enough
but what i truly loved was the cold-ass Oreo McFlurry.
actually, that's a half-lie because the cold-ass Oreo McFlurry
wasn't the only thing i truly loved from that McDonalds lunch.
when i was McSpooning the creamy goodness using my left hand,
the hand that should be reserved for ice cream related endeavors,
this girl wearing a polka-dot dress and a beret came in, stood in line,
and i heard her order: Big Mac, wedge fries and an Oreo McFlurry.
she anxiously tapped her right foot, the foot that should be reserved for tapping,
and i felt love for the first time in months. i didn't know her but i was in love.
it was the kind of momentary love developed for strangers that makes you think:
**** I wish we could sit together in silence at a McDonalds, mouths full,
eating Big Macs, wedge fries and McFlurries being the envy of McDonalds residents."
and then the stranger asks for her order to go and the universe collapses.
the momentary love begins fading slowly and the fantasy is enveloped by greasy fast food smells.
reality is a ***** girl in the polka-dot dress and beret.
it's been 5 minutes since you left. i miss you.
it's been 10 minutes since you left. i've tried forgetting you.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
Once upon a time
There stood a frigid little snowman
With finger holes for eyes
Which spoke no truth nor lies
Two twigs made his disfigured arms
And a stoll for keeping him "warm"
There he stood with all his smiley charm
From the dusk until the dawn!
His head covered with dad's old beret
And a stalky little carrot nose
Oh yes,He was our brave little snowman
Who grew as he further froze.
Then came the mighty spring
Putting our little snowman at risk!
And then came the sunshine
Leaving only the beret,stoll and the twigs.
Months passed by
Winter came again
And Childern came along
With the Brave little snowman!
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC
Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
My gorilla wears tennis shoes
He reads the paper and sings the blues
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla, he's a sensitive guy
I took him out for a wedding, and man did he cry!
Tears all down his tie
Well, he can drive most greens from the back tees
But his putting brings him to his knees
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla loves pork and beans
He rides a scooter in his cut-off jeans
My gorilla, my gorilla
He can make a mean souffle
He's great with omelets, but his specialty is flambe
So I eat one every day!
He's been working hard on a half pike
But his cannonball empties the pool
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla is so much fun
He buys taquitos for everyone
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla loves tequila with lime
He's taking classes at a school for mime
Cracks me up every time!
Well, he's looking cool in his "white face"
And his French beret looks oh so fine
My gorilla, my gorilla
Oh yeah...
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
Listen my dear daughter, to my first song of caution
Earmarked for you my wonderful sire, come and listen,
That tall old man with white hair all over his head
Standing over there is not good; he is gnomish in the mind
Be careful with him, he is not human in the heart
But a mermaid of Yoruba poetry, just like Thespis of Greece
Even the pecuniary psychopomp of Sweden gave him an accolade
His heart is selfishly full of avarice; he wants everything for himself,
Don’t recite him any of your poetry, lest he spells an abyss
Against your juvenile poetic talent, he will fool you with a gift;
A white sheep or a scarlet goat for your birth day anniversary
Please don’t take it or anything else from him, as nothing from him is genuine
But only machinations of evil spell aimed at mahyeming your talent
Finally to decimate your girlhood and life, this is my caution
For you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear little daughter, to my second song of caution
That short man in a Muslim gear loafing yonder, is suspect
The Muslim beret on his head is merely a smokescreen to aghastly behaviour
He is in no way an avatar of god of love and humane piety
He is a terrorist working with Boko Haram and Algaeda
He is an Alshabab that is bombing young girls in Mombasa and Nairobi
All over Kenya he has killed the young people; his long egret-white sari is not for holiness,
It is merely a nefarious sanctum of grenades, other tools of work in terrorism trade
His loudly prayers, body movements and pocket bursting monies are only a stunt
To have you kidnapped into death conduit, once you goof to join his courts,
His sanctimony is a total picaresque film, (s)heroes of terror the centerpiece
And thus, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear daughter, to my third song of caution
Those tourists thronging our streets are deadly *** pets, they also skulk ****
Their handsome outlook is not a stamp to any good conscientiousness
They derive pleasure from poverty and *** tourism; they yearn to see a girl in poverty,
Often rarely will they help an African girl, out of milieu of beggarly squalorism,
Instead they go straight for the purse between your thighs,
Regardless of the legacy they leave out of this lewdness, they are showy,
They regret not in their Byronic broadcast of *** and fatherless urchins in the poor streets
Foundation for their further poverty tourism, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
Pantomime parrots
Rabbit sick carrots
a polar bear's merits
And a porcupine forgetting his cue
An ant reading tarot
Chess master ferret
A moose's beret
And gallons of seahorse drool
All of these things
And those in between
Are something for
Your mind to chew.
Yum :-)
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
they took my man off the street
the other day
he wore an L.A. Rams sweatshirt with
the sleeves cut
off
and under that
an army shirt
private first class
and he wore a green beret
walked very straight
he was black in brown walking shorts
hair dyed blonde
he never bothered anybody
he stole a few babies
and ran off cackling
but he always returned the infants
unharmed
he slept in the back of the
Love Parlor
the girls let him.
compassion is found in
strange places.
one day I didn't see him
then another.
I asked around.
my taxes are going to go up
again. the state's got to
house and feed
him. the cops took him
in. no
good.
4.3k
My sister is a beauty,
A photographer, an artist
And the best subject imaginable.
She is the main attraction of my coffee shop,
She’s the mainstay of Main Street.
Unlike every other woman I know,
She only carries her camera and her dignity.
And the gaze of a mirror;
Her plaid shirt, oversized even when it was mine.
A pair of tights earning their title
And sky-high leather boots, a rocker’s staple.
A cheesy beret, our mother’s bracelet.
Blonde locks like there are teardrops on her guitar.
And to complete the classic ensemble, Satan’s prized pearls:
The Cheshire Cat smile.
All tucked behind her expensive-as-hell camera.
And her phone, case with white box and black bow.
Just like my baby sister,
A photograph with a black bow.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 9:09 AM UTC
Janice sat beside you
on the bombsite
off Meadow Row
looking towards
the New Kent Road
watching the people
and traffic pass
you with your catapult
and she with the doll
her gran had bought her
from the market in the Cut
Gran said those are dangerous
Janice said
pointing at the catapult
not if you’re careful
and responsible
you said
but they fire stones
she said
guns fire bullets
you said
they can **** people
David killed Goliath
with a stone
she said
I heard it in church
I only fire at tin cans
or other such targets
you said
she looked at the sky
at pigeons flying overhead
what about birds?
she asked
no I don’t shoot at birds
although I did fire
at a rat once
but missed
and it ran off
I hate rats
she said
there was one
on our balcony once
and it frightened me to death
you laughed
you remember that coalman
who stomped on that one
along the balcony by your flat?
yuk
she said
horrible blood and guts
everywhere
and on his boot
you said
she hugged her doll
close against her
don’t remind me
you studied the doll
in her arms
the way it was close
to her chest
her hands caressing
the painted china head
the yellow flowered dress
and small white socks
and black plastic shoes
you’d make a good mum
you said
watching her rock
the doll in her arms
do you think so?
she asked
yes
you said
maybe one day
I will have a real baby
she said
and rock it to sleep
and feed it with a bottle
and burp it
and change its *****
like I saw a lady do
in the toilets
of Waterloo station
and Gran said
it wasn’t hygienic
not there of all places
Gran said
I’d have to have
a peg on my nose
if I had to change
a baby’s *****
you said
I think men
have weaker stomachs
than women do
she said
I think mothers
are given stronger stomachs
when they have babies
it’s God way of helping them
deal with babies
I’d rather have a catapult
than a baby
you said
or a doll
do you want to hold my doll
and I can hold your catapult?
she asked
no thanks
you replied
if my mates saw me
I’d never live it down
she kissed the doll’s head
and said
likewise
but there was a smile
on her lips
and a sparkle
in her eyes
and a beauty
in the way she sat
in her orange coloured dress
and bright red beret hat.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
You once said I read too much Le Carré
or maybe Guevara, which could be true
but I’m really just a hillbilly at heart
with dreams of going to Chile with you
on a fast boat running guns, but no más
because you, you can dream forever
without ever remembering who I was
lying in your bed somewhere in Argentina
reading Borges, wearing that black beret
you brought with you from Bolivia, sweet
Olivia, daydreaming of nights with Che.
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
Janice holds
on her small
open hand
the yellow
canary
I watch it
standing there
on her palm
seemingly
not trying
to fly off
it talks words
she tells me
standing there
red beret
perched on top
of blonde hair
-I knew that
I'd heard it
taught it words
while Janice
was not there
in the room
naughty words-
but sometimes
Janice says
it utters
naughty words
and Gran says
who taught that
canary
such bad words?
not me Gran
I tell her
must be that
previous
owner's fault
I guess so
her gran says
I keep stumn
put on my
good boy face
saint like gaze
falling from
God's good grace.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
The Master Corporal said to me
"I'm gonna do a show"
"Don't worry what I say to you"
"I just thought you should know"
Injured, badly two weeks gone
I was set to be held back
My knee was torn apart and
that, was not something I could hack
The day I was demoted
My Master Corporal came to me
He said "Turner, I hate to do this"
"But, it's for the best...you'll see"
I waited for inspection
With the others all on line
They were standing at attention
Me on crutches the whole time
"Turner, is there anything"
"That I should hate to find"
"Is there stuff inside your locker"
"of a non-military kind"
I stood there at attention
Waiting for the end to come
As he looked all through my kitting
Found dust upon my gun
He opened up the locker
And a moth came flying out
It flew past the Master Corporal
And then it danced upon his snout
The yell...was heard in England
"A pet...you've got a pet"
"Who said that you could have one?"
"It's not allowed...A PET"
The moth found the first window
flew back towards him once again
Left some moth dust on his beret
And he flew away right then
The Master Corporal's outrage
At being "mothed" by my new pet
Was one I don't think many
In our platoon would soon forget
He started throwing clothing
Chucking boots around the room
I knew it was all acting
But, those boots can really zoom
When finished he stood waiting
For a response, I stood and stared
I could not break out a smile
I had to show I didn't care
He moved on through the others
Looking for more moths on the way
But, that first one and it's face dance
Well, it surely made my day
He drove me to my barracks
Up to my new platoon
"I hope you liked my show today"
" I know I'll see you soon"
"Just do what you are ordered"
"And one thing don't forget"
"When you next have an inspection"
"Don't have an insect for a pet!!"
I remember fondly that last visit
He knew it hurt for me to leave
But, every word in here is truthful
You can choose to not or to believe.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
Kids like him
spending nights
dreaming about
traveling to France
and sitting
around in a
café
wearing a beret
and black turtleneck
and smoking with
a cup of wine
on their other hand
that dream about
romance in the streets
a kiss beneath
the Eiffel Tower
musky hotel rooms
I'll never
understand
you kid
I just can't
dream that.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
From the time he was a little boy
He wanted to be a soldier real bad
To wear big boots and a uniform
to look just like his dad
Although he'd never met the man
Many pictures had he seen
Of daddy as a soldier
being inspected by the queen.
There's a shoebox in the cupboard
With daddys medals and beret
And a letter Johnny never read
about how daddy passed away
The Falklands war was halfway done
but wars are always hell
and The Battle of Goose Green
is where Johnny's hero fell
As soon as he was old enough
despite his mothers pleas
Johnny joined the army
though she begged him from her knees
It seemed he was a natural
a born soldier like his dad
who looking down from up above
would be so proud of his lad
He had an honesty and integrity
that his advancement did effect
A natural heroic son of a *****
you could not help but respect
So when war came around again
this time in old Iraq
Johnny proudly did his duty well
not just the once, for he want back
28 years ago we said goodbye
almost to the day
this time we're here for Johnny
who war also took away
Johnny was my friend
a man I truly loved
No wife or children left behind,
his family's given enough
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC
Janice adjusts
the red beret
on her fair hair
and pulls at the hem
of her dress
as she sits
on the wooden seat
of the swing
in the park.
I sit on the swing
next to her,
ready to kick off,
my feet on the tarmac,
my eyes glued on her.
She winces.
Gran spanked me last night
for saying
that four letter word
you taught me.
You weren't supposed
to tell your gran.
You never said
not to tell;
I didn't know
what it meant.
Sorry,
I should have
told you.
(I didn't know,
but I don't tell her that).
She pushes off
with her feet
and she's air borne;
her sandalled feet
high in the air
as the swing goes backward
then forward.
I push off, too,
holding tight
to the steel links
on each side of the swing.
Maybe your gran
should have washed
your mouth out
with soap
instead of a spanking.
I wish she had, too.
My old man's aunt
swears like a trooper;
I used to go
to Sunday tea with her
and her husband
and my Nan used to say:
that's enough
of that language,
there's children present.
What did did she say?
They don't know
what it means,
she used to say;
but Nan'd say, no,
but they might repeat it
to people who do.
And did you?
Janice asks.
No, at least not
if my parents
were around.
I am swinging higher
than her now;
my feet seem to reach
the nearest clouds.
She tries to swing higher,
but I am still higher,
by swinging backward
and forward on the seat
and the holding tight
to steel links each side,
I am up there
with the gods.
Have you ever
been spanked?
I look at her.
Once when I peed
in my toy box
and my cousin
told my mum.
She pulls a face.
How ***** of you.
Yes, I guess;
Mum thought so.
I feel a breeze
in my hair and face
as I ride high,
swinging back and forth
on the swing.
She's beside me
trying hard to reach
as high as I am;
her feet reaching up,
her legs swinging madly;
her body going
backward and forward;
her red beret,
clinging on
for dear life
on her head.
I reach my maximum height;
my feet touching
Heaven's gates
or so seems,
my body going
back and forth
as much as it can.
She’s almost there,
smiling,
the wind riding
through her flowing
fair hair.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
At this time of my life
I find myself wearing hats…
I’m not happy with my head you see,
In short, being able to see it
it just doesn’t thrill me.
Not through those depressing, disappearing strands.
So it’s that time - It’s hat time!
Hats are warm, comforting things;
take it off and, for a while at least,
it feels still there - a phantom hat.
Not quite as spooky or worrying
as a phantom arm or leg - after that
severed limb thing, but right there!
It really is that time - It’s hat time!
My Grandma Lamplough,
that’s on my mother’s side,
was an avid knitter of things to order,
She was even a freelancer for Jaeger…
matinée jackets, mittens, cardies, pullovers
But in later days mostly just tea cosies.
If there was no immediate customer in mind…
“Everybody needs a cosy and one size fits all”
she would say… and anyway,
commissions were rare for cosies back in the day
She’d wear it boldly herself
with handle and spout slots front & back, proud
She’d start the next one and announce
to every visitor right out loud…
”Hey…Do you want a cosy for your ***
Mr Watling, the milkman, he had quite a lot!
But then he showed up every day!
A quart is it Mrs L?… and yes, I WILL have a cosy today!
Me? I’ve never fancied a toupee, wig
or go in for a Bobby Charlton tribute gig ….
I’ll be happy just to settle for a beret,
news boy or Fedora… to hide the offending pate
and avoid the comb over till a later date.
Meanwhile I’ll maybe settle for Grandma’s cosy special?
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 9:32 AM UTC
We sat on the grass
by Banks House
warm sun
sound of coal men
at the coal wharf
just behind
shunting of coal trucks
up in the shunting yard
by the railway bridge
I showed Janice
my new 6 shooter gun
my old man had got me
with a plastic holster
that was attached
to my belt
she took the gun
in her hands
and turned it over
what's fascinating
about guns?
she said
one looks pretty much
like another
she opened up the gun
and saw where the caps
were fitted
does it go bang
when you fire caps?
sure it does
I said
and took the gun
and pulled the trigger
and BANG BANG
it went
she put her hands
over her ears
that's loud
she said
******** up her eyes
I twirled the gun round
a finger and put the gun
back in the holster
Gran said guns
are dangerous things
Janice said
they are but this
is only a toy gun
I said
she took off her
red beret and combed
her fair hair with a comb
from her small handbag
did they have girl cowboys?
she asked
cowgirls they were called
I said
Anne Oakley was good
with a gun
have you got a spare gun
and holster
I could borrow?
and I could be her
to your Wyatt Earp
she said
sure I have
I said
I got lots of guns
and holsters
- I had about three sets-
let's go get one
and we can get you
started as a cowgirl
I said
and I can ride
a pretend white horse
she said
to go with your
black one
ok
I said
and we got up
and walked back
into the Square
and we went to the flat
where I lived
my mother was boiling
the wash in the boiler
and said
you want some lunch yet?
I asked Janice and she said
that would be nice
and so we had some
sandwiches and milk
and I went and got her
a spare gun and holster
and an S belt of mine
which she fitted around
her narrow waist
and she had a go
at drawing the gun
out of the holster
as she'd seen me do
and she was quite good
and after lunch
we set off to ride
our imaginary horses
through the Square
and along the open prairie
off the Meadow Row
bomb site
looking out
for Injuns
or bad cowboys
we could fight.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
I arrived
at Janice's grandmother's flat
for the doll's tea party
as I said I would
and Janice took me
into her bedroom
as her gran was in
the sitting room
with two of her elderly friends
talking over cups of tea
Janice showed me
into her room
where there was
a single bed
and a small table
arranged beside it
with two small chairs
in which sat Teddy
a yellowish bear
Golly a red smiling lipped
black doll
and Miss Woolworth
a blonde doll
with curly blonde hair
and blue staring eyes
and a pouty mouth
and a rag doll
with one eye
the other one
empty space
after she had introduced me
to the tea party guests
she showed me
the small stainless tea ***
and six small teacups
and a stainless milk jug
and bowl with a few sugar lumps
do you take sugar?
she asked
I said two and she put
two sugar lumps in a tea cup
and one in hers
and poured the tea
into my cup
and added milk from the jug
she made her own tea
and sat on the bed beside me
then she poured
pretend tea in the cups
of the guests
on the small table
was a plate of small ice cakes
Gran made them for us
Gran's friends have the rest
Janice said
and on another
small plate were four
fingers of KitKat
I sipped the tea
it was weak but warm
in the other room
voices laughed
what's the doll
with one eye called?
I asked
Cyclops
she replied
funny name for a girl doll
I said
don't you remember
Mr Finn saying about
a one-eyed person
the other week?
Janice said
he said it was
a one-eyed savage giant
I replied
o did he?
she said
frowning her forehead
o I see
she said
never mind
I said
it's as good a name
as any
she wasn't convinced
and frowned harder
maybe I ought to call her Grace
Janice said
Grace?
I said
yes I had an aunt
who had one eye called Grace
Janice informed
what was the other eye called?
I said
she laughed out loudly
and then put a hand
over her mouth
and whispered
best not make
too much noise
or Gran will wonder
what we're doing
I sipped more tea
and took one of the iced cakes
we ate the cakes in silence
I gazed at the Golly
smiling at me
then Teddy who sat
with a small
silly smile sewn on
after cakes Janice gave me
a KitKat finger
and we sat
and ate those too
Miss Woolworth hasn't been well
Janice said
o what's wrong with her?
I asked
her left leg
has come loose
and dangles
when you lift her up
Janice said
o dear
I said
giving Janice a stare
she seemed serious
so I didn't smile
there was more laughter
from the women
in the other room
Janice looked at me
and said
glad you could come
and so is Teddy
he likes company
I said
I enjoyed it
and after sipping
the last of the tea
she showed me
her new red beret
and placed it
on her blonde hair
and smiled
then kissed
my cheek
best go
I said
glad other boys
never saw the kiss
or they'd think
I'd gone weak.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
What a show!
What a pose!
Who exactly do you think you are?
Hemingway?
Fitzgerald?
No.
Can't be.
Those guys wouldn't drink
this so called coffee
in this hell hole.
Look at the guy making
the drinks, clearly an idiot,
oh but look at him now,
pretending to be reading
some philosopher
I've never heard of.
Yes, pretending,
I can see him
eyeing his sides
to make sure someone
is watching.
And you
typing away on that machine,
that dinosaur,
in your thrift shop clothes
wearing that dumb beret,
so special.
I'm going to leave
the pretentiousness
that surrounds me here,
it's truly numbing and sick.
Forget Starbucks,
I'm going to that bar
across the street.
Whiskey is cheaper
than this cup
of coffee flavored water.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
I woke up this morning
Sporting a Beret
Speaking in an accent
Parlez-vous francais?
With a scarf around my neck
A pencil thin moustache
Afraid I might have woke up French
A slight giggle to my laugh
With a strong urge for fresh Baguette's
I head to the grocery
I told my cat I'd be right back
He looked at me... Cest la vie
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
That badass girl’s got curves
like a Spanish guitar
a few scratches, a lot of scars
you can see almost any Saturday
at the Bullets for Martyrs Cantina
if she's not strung too tight, she’s a
lean, mean beautiful Argentine into
that whole revolutionary scene
singing Seremos como el Che
all olive drabbed and black beret’d
always quick with a ¿Como estas?
Eh, I'm okay I says, mis chica mas
bella, pero su ese Che es muerto
but here on the B!ue Mesa is where
the truly live come to live - ¿Comprende?
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 8:42 PM UTC
A report assembled over 3 years by NAASA scientists has now confirmed that there is life in outer space
They cannot however determine whether it is Martian, Venusion or Pluterian.
Whatever this life form is we know that it is posing as a great artist with both brush and word although our cryptologists are still trying to make sense out of the rambling messages this life form keeps transmitting.
Our artistic impression of this being likens it to the right frontal lobe of a human brain covered by a beret
Should you receive email or any other form of correspondence from this being you are strongly advised to ignore them as trying to decipher such messages can cause permanent brain damage
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:42 AM UTC
I saw Sting in the lobby this morning, we were going out and he was coming in. Lisa nudged me, “Sting” was all she whispered. He was with a woman and a man. The woman was talking to the doorman. Sting was dressed all in black except for a long stark-white cashmere scarf, he was chatting and working a dark-gray French-flat-cap around in his hands. His hair is very short and white.
We wanted to walk in the snow, if only for a minute.
A gust of wind caught us as we reached the sidewalk. The two American flags, on either side of the entrance, went rigid, at 9-o’clock as if saluting us. “Jeeez!” I said, like the Georgia girl I am - or was. “Don’t be a baby,” Lisa answered, like a true, pittyless New Yorker but her cheeks had turned a child-like pink. She flipped up her collar.
I patted my pocket, relieved to feel my phone and know that if we froze to death the authorities could use “find my friends” to locate our bodies.
Leeza joins us a moment later and I can’t help but notice that she’s dressed like it’s a cool fall day. Back in the day, when my brother would dress like summer even though temperatures in Georgia had dipped cruelly into the fifties. Seeing him, my mom would say, “Where there’s no sense, there’s no feeling,” but I don’t.
“Did you see Sting?” I asked Leeza (12). She gives me a blank look. “Sting”, I said, “the lead singer for The Police?” I add, as clarification. “I don’t know who that is,” she says flatly. “He was famous,” I say in surrender, “a long time ago, in the 90s.” Maybe the next generation won’t be as celebrity driven.
Thank God Lisa suggested I pin my artist-beret down or it would have blown away, like my resolve to walk in the snow. Still, I followed Lisa into the park like a cat on a leash - unwilling to be seen as any less Canadian. The show crunched like we were trampling over snow-cones.
Trees began turning away the wind as we entered Central Park, “I think we may survive.” I said cheerfully. Just because you're freezing to death doesn’t mean you can’t be affable.
Why don’t pigeons freeze to death - I thought birds flew south for the winter?
Jan 10, 2022
Jan 10, 2022 at 9:17 AM UTC