Miss Billings leaned
against the doorframe
looking at Mr Fredericks
pushing a broom

on the forecourt
of the petrol station
look at the old ****
pushing broom

she said
it’s his way of getting you
to do the job kid
you looked out

the glass front
as Mr Fredericks limped
pushing broom
I didn’t see him

go out there
you said
he probably sneaked out
she said

does it all the time
it makes him feel good
to see you go
creeping out there

she pushed her glasses
up the bridge of her nose
and put her hands
on her hips and did

that Monroe thing
she did quite often
you went out
to the forecourt

and said to Mr Fredericks
I can do that
I can push the broom
he handed you the broom

and limped inside
without a word
you swept along
the edge of the forecourt

Miss Billings moved
outside a bit
and said
told you kid

that’s the way he is
bet he don’t do that
when he beds his wife
or maybe he does

who knows
and she walked off
her backside like
a poor man’s Monroe

swaying side to side
and you watched her go
standing holding
the broom

the red cardigan
the white overalls
the black stockings
and then she had gone

into the back office
through the swing door
time to get on
with sweeping

you thought
but her swaying backside
lingered in your mind
her poor man’s Monroe

right down
to her blonde hair
and the way she stood
you’d be her

Clark Gable
(in miniature)
if you could.

You made your way down
to the gas station
for your third day of work
in the heaviest fall of snow

since the year you were born
15 years before
and Mr. Fredericks was there
limping about the forecourt

around the pumps
with a big broom
brushing away snow
hey

he said
right you can try sweep
off the snow about the pumps
make it easy

for the customers
to get in and out
their cars and trucks
and handed you the broom

I’ll be upstairs
if you need me
just press the bell
under the desk

in the kiosk
at the front
and off he went
limping inside

snow still fell
there was a cold chill
about your limbs
your fingers ached

you pushed broom
shoved snow off
about the pumps
until all

were temporarily clear
then went inside
just as Miss Billings
rode along side

of the gas station
on her motorbike
then walked up
to the kiosk

where you’d taken refuge
you the new kid?
she asked
you nodded

I’m Miss Billings
she said
I work here too
in the back office

doing accounts
help out in the forecourt
if needed or the shop
in back if you’re overrun

she stood there
in her glasses
blonde hair covered
by a scarf

a black leather jacket
zipped to the neck
and helmet in one hand
white overalls coming down

to her knees
followed down
to her ankles
were red wool stockings

and white boots
on her feet
she stared at you
her eyes scrutinizing

the customer
is always right
did Mr Fredericks
tell you that?

yes
you said
well he’s right
so don’t matter

if the customer’s thick as ****
or **** stupid
they’re always right ok
so be tight Kid

tight as *****
in the *******
in a freezing shower
get it right

you nodded
and she walked in
and disappeared
into the back office

with a slow sway
of her of hips
her words
like chisel blows

to your ears
she about 21
to your 15
innocent

boyish years
she seeping
into your imagination
not knowing then

that her beauty
was probably
some marine’s image
for secret *******.

13th floor mannequin girl dropped out took a greyhound to Tinsle town

Fredericks of Hollywood, hired her to pose in the window sporting lingerie wigs and gowns

Her parents frowned at the catalog the debutant passed around

The Mississippi tract home chippie
Hates square Timmy he just got in her way

Jocko **** stud turned out to be gay

Schwabs drug store made her mop the candy store floor soda shop, then she wants to live the star is born dream

Twenty-years has passed, now she is a sad old ***** queen

So much for her dreams to be on the Hollywood silver screen...

Miss Billings dismounted her motorbike
over by the garage wall
and in Marilyn Monroe like fashion
she walked up towards

the forecourt where you
were sweeping
between the pumps
with the big broom

Mr Fredericks had given you
a few minutes ago
to clear the last
of the snow

got you busy already kid?
she said
undoing the headscarf
and giving you the eye

yes he said to get off
the rest of the snow
she glanced around
the forecourt

well don't let me keep you kid
don't let it be said
I kept a keen man down
and she walked off

into the garage rooms
to the back office
swaying her backside
as she went

you watched
until she had disappeared
then swept more snow
from the pumps

until half hour later
(only three cars had entered
the forecourt for petrol)
you walked to the small office

at the front where the till
was kept and a small heater
was lit to keep you warm
when Miss Billings came along

and said
you want some coffee
or cocoa? or anything else
to get you warm?

coffee would be nice
you said
OK kid
she said

keep yourself warm in there
don't want you to freeze
your jewels off
and she swayed away

humming some song
as she went
you rubbed
your chilled hands

together to warm them
remembering that Christmas
when you and Judith
had walked

through the snow
carol singing
her cheeks red
with her cold

her hand touching yours
her breath exiting
her mouth
like cigarette smoke

and she pretended
she had a cigarette
between fingers
her eyes bright as stars

her hand squeezing
her fingers freezing
what you dreaming about kid?
Miss Billings said

putting a mug of coffee
by the till
O just thinking
of happy times

in my past
well hold on to it kid
she said
because it won't last

and she wiggled off
like some imitation Monroe
without the glitter or good looks
back to the back office

to play with herself
or make up the books.

Broken, weary, deflated, and disappointed is what I feel
about myself for all this
Your words piercing me hard like a dagger
Though truthful and deep!
Another day comes and goes without you here
it all comes to the cycle of loneliness
that I don’t want to be used to
my love for you was never a farce neither was
our relationship casual,
at least you didn’t take it that way
neither did I …..
sweet memories of us, hunt me
I dream of you
I think of you
I pray for you
I see you literally with my eyes closed
While driving I feel you near
Your voice serene and penetrating
Made a convert out of me
Can we reverse?
Make a U turn
Or like a detour?
The journey delayed but not denied..
My insensitivity injured my pride
When I hurt you
I don’t know why
I don’t understand you the way I should
Or the way you would have wanted me
The inadequacies and faults
are eating me up
I was consumed with myself
And forgot about your feelings
I don’t mean to change you
I may not have understood how you complete me
But am willing to give it a try
When you give that chance
No one can love you
The way I do
I want to show you
What I feel
In my way
That will not change how you want to be
I realized I cannot make you
Be who I want you to be
But I can learn to love
Who you are
How you are
The way you are
And still be happy
If you were able to do it for me
I can do even better for you
I will not pretend
It may be difficult
But am willing to give it a shot
Am out of this illusion
I was beside myself
And I actually thought I was being a man
I felt I will lose my manhood
If I did things in unconventional ways
You have captured my heart
I can’t love another
Never
This heart is for you and you alone
Like you said, I agree
Despite it all – I’m still yours and you’ll forever be mine
In our heart and minds
@JP Fredericks. 11/05/2013
Joel Paul Fredericks
Written by
Joel Paul Fredericks

My poetic side COSMOFUNNEL
wordsmith thanks tumblr in his noggin
ofttimes triggering babbling brook
to swell after deluge
becoming stream of consciousness runnel
carving, gouging, and liquidating topography
qua zee mow toe natural formed tunnel.

Digitally remastered and revised
since original version rejected, thus
writer released,  purposely leaked,
and flooded mass media
courtesy the following
self branded watershed vaunted unabridged
sprawling questionable and deplorable
creation loosed upon unassuming readers.

Analogously linkedin with
once upon a time
one doodling dandy Yankee slender man,
whose yang upended, overshadowed,
and eclipsed mine yin,
nevertheless, now yours truly self anointed
as an elder statesman - ha
gifted with unwanted
inxs of abdominal adipose tissue
(attributed to agent provocateur of aging,

which affects my metabolism
and/or courtesy
unwanted side effect reaction
from one or more
of the eight medications
nurse practitioner
at Penn Psychiatric Center
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania location
Elizabeth Clark prescribes),
which gained weight foments tussle

a fight to the death, I can never win
and alternately titled: arm ugh gut tin
yours truly loathes to mensch shin
one alien looking pear shaped
humanoid with redskin
liposuction advised courtesy Doctor Quinn
(a fictional character and magician,
I took poetic license
created above to help eradicate body dysmorphia),
she waved her wand and ****
transformed me into a puffin.

Aye dread getting undressed
and/or getting washed
even without spectacles
thar haint no mo' six pack ab,
which nearly rock ribbed
mid equatorial zone shape shifted
into corpuscular blubbery
ancillary physiognomy
where aye wanna bab
bull posttraumatic stressed out

middle age battle of the bulge
in summer re: a waisted effort
squarely (er rather roundly) testing
the elasticity of extra large sweatpants,
when straining to hide expanding girth
definitely producing undesirable effect,
(especially when floating in briny deep,
I squarely, honestly and closely resemble
the Chinese brother
who swallowed the sea  

strongly urging, necessitating,
and exhorting mister crab
to clamp down with pincers,
viz primitive liposuction,
whence rustling scupper
will efface this fleshed out
human bloviated ruggedly handsome
man of the webbed wide world
a bit heavy around the equator
over self indulgent fleshpot

unable, uneager, unready,
and unwilling to maneuver
his portly ill proportioned body
inducing unprovoked stares,
and tears for fears
eyes tracking billowing supersize shirt
resembling trireme sails being trimmed,
where fleshly freighted sloop
displaces entire watery expanse
stranding, stinging and starving an a ray

of underwater species,
now prolonging requisite inhalation;
I seek desperate sticktoitiveness
guidance courtesy Younan Nowzaradan
with steely mettle
hie trite to iron out flab
thus tis part and parcel of senescence,
yet auxiliary buttressed dermis
effect forming gorged girth
giving "love handles" grab

reigniting reign of terror
viz prepubescent anorexia nervosa,
boot strapped now - wen
remembrance of things past frankly
zapped distorted self-image
evoked holocaust images repugnant;
buttery rolls of fat insta jab
stubborn thoughts of self-loathing
entice me to become a lab
bore a tory guinea pig/
scapegoat role to restore

prime of life build when five foot ten
obviously me no Lemuel Gulliver
alignment could now perchance nab
first place in a slick couture magazine
from the neck down,
cuz face mottled with
nine inch nails clawing skin
wrought unsightly scab
taut torso bearing
fashion model and
senior citizen idol, where
every place I go receiving
venue offers free tab.

To stand stock still until shutterfly
would SnapChat
rippled tummy, could
fill my hungry wallet with inxs of cash
now, aye haint so gorge ***,
WhatsApp with
faux pregnant protuberance,
though thankfully
derriere still rather dash
shing, which palmolive pilot sized buttocks

doth newt offset sorry to report
lost battle of the bulge,
where diet tribes furloughed in a flash
abandoning their respective stations,
gnome hatter sinusoidal
parabolic frontispiece finds me to gnash
my toothless mouth for lack of means
to stave of the depredations
of slump pin proletariat
allowing me a hash

sheesh priceline tag
with hefty weight, acquiescing
this Pillsbury doughboy blivet
to subject himself to the sharp
stings of a cool whip lash
bearing the snap against
raw skin as due process
and supplication for atlas shrug
gin his broad shoulders
at the fountainhead naming me mash
shew Scott in regard to oblate inflation
insulation fiberglass around midsection, and

how ma late mum
(an avid fan of doctor Carleton Fredericks,
who preceded Mehmet Oz), would quash
the love she showered on this sole heir -
resorting to exhaustive palliatives -
even ear rash
shun null gambits,
and as last ditch effort
putting this offspring
on par with an albatross -
vamoose get out with the trash
unless everything (pertaining to
indelible stubborn blubber
comes out at the whoosh she wash
Diet of worms.

Yours truly (an amazingly,
gracefully, and markedly modest
passively aging baby boomer -
formerly introverted long haired
pencil necked geek),
prattling wordsmith doth behold
nostalgic memories regarding father
(Boyce Brandon Harris)
long ago lapsed decades

during papa's prime time
many years past when complacence
existed about joie de vivre,
and considerations about mortality irrelevant,
where soothsayers promised
our family staying alive for eternity
few and far between instances found me
acting, exhibiting, illustrating brazenly bold
behavior, said rare spontaneity
the exception versus the rule,

hence following poem crafted
an endearment to those who begat me,
resorted to discipline, but NO spanking
ever since mama did cherish her little boy
scores of years before she passed away
at her death hands went limp and cold
as a shy lad his maternal and paternal parents
their virtues he extolled
contrary, now healthy sexagenarian
born of sturdy genetic mettle

rumor claims I suckled magic potion,
cuz courtesy to preventative medicine
mother followed advice
of one Carlton Fredericks,
renown radio commentator
and writer on health and nutrition
ne'er did mine lovely bones buckle,
even when skinny body crushingly embraced
into loving maternal fold,
without doubt mama adored motherhood
and brood of three offspring

harmonized, memorialized, pampered...
the hardworking de facto breadwinner
late twenty something handsome groom fêted
born April 9th, nineteen twenty nine,
Brooklyn fortune teller travails foretold,
when the late Harriet Harris, not so gold
din as totally bewitched, she gamely evinced
controlling authoritarian versus
crooning, marveling, and warbling
regarding once "little monkey" - me,

which pet name no longer applied
shucked off brought to abrupt halt
as yours truly grew up,
and decried childhood's end
I experienced objection to thwart growing up,
and latched unto anorexia nervosa
countless moons ago,
when I biologically, emotionally,  
intellectually, and sexually transitioned
into socially withdrawn young man,
once indomitable omnipotent

mother/son bond ex post facto lost hold,
where once applicable theme
exemplifying Harris household
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
dramatically, markedly plummeting
formerly measurable appreciable tolerance,
similarly short tempered patriarch
( ~6'2” ~ 200 lbs at prime)
over any five members,
especially toward singular male offspring

timid, meek, and demure (effeminate) me,
essentially ruled the roost
regarding Harris household
sole son characterized vis a vis
presented passive resistant
outward nonestablishmentarian mold
worst case scenario
would hypothetically witness
Matthew Scott Harris
spending longevity old and feeble minded
at 324 Level Road

outliving parents, pets
(comprising inordinate
number of dust bunnies) and siblings,
both caring and concerned girls
(an older and younger sister),
the latter whose globetrotting exploits I envied,
nevertheless yours truly
speculatively imagined himself
to have outlived anyone polled
even Methuselah, where mein kampf
blissful, fanciful, nouveau poet
nearly long forgotten boyhood charade,
facade inlaid masquerade

analogously crumbled like broken scaffold
attaining centenarian years old -
faintly maintaining umbilical stronghold
considerably surpassing mommy dearest,
born November 13th, nineteen thirty five,
yet moments before her passing
she barely audibly apologized
for occasions she did reprimand and scold
retaliated against grim reaper,
he whisked her diseased riddled body away
after completing approximately
seventy plus orbits, all told.

I experienced interminable
relentlessly psyche burning acrid
tormenting, teasing, and talking funny
bullying vulnerability compounded amid
courtesy of split uvula set me apart
alien as a Druid livingsocial
during latter half of twentieth
and first two plus decades
of twenty first century
rather a speech pathologist
informed legal biological guardians

regarding Lancaster Cleft Palate Clinic
minor congenital defect when
attending sixth grade at
Henry Kline Boyer Elementary
i.e., submucous cleft palate, aforesaid
whereby every day akin getting scorched
by some "NON FAKE" ironclad grid
me, this twangy nasal kid
my undersized and socially
withdrawn demeanor contributing
to existence tumultuous and turbid.

Extreme shyness demeanor
did heavily exhibit
as if burdened with a yoke
linkedin with anatomical diminutiveness
punctuated with aforementioned
pinched nose adenoidal sound,
quite obvious when I infrequently spoke
conveniently availed himself
as cannon fodder i.e. scapegoat to bullies
as a socially withdrawn pre/
post pubescent slowpoke.

Yours truly (an amazingly,
gracefully, and markedly modest
passively aging baby boomer -
formerly introverted long haired
pencil necked geek),
prattling wordsmith doth behold
nostalgic memories regarding father
(Boyce Brandon Harris)
long ago lapsed decades

during papa's prime time
many years past when complacence
existed about joie de vivre,
and considerations about mortality irrelevant,
where soothsayers promised
our family staying alive for eternity
few and far between instances found me
acting, exhibiting, illustrating brazenly bold
behavior, said rare spontaneity
the exception versus the rule,

hence following poem crafted
an endearment to those who begat me,
resorted to discipline, but NO spanking
ever since mama did cherish her little boy
scores of years before she passed away
at her death hands went limp and cold
as a shy lad his maternal and paternal parents
their virtues he extolled
contrary,  now healthy sexagenarian
born of sturdy genetic mettle

rumor claims I suckled magic potion,
cuz courtesy to preventative medicine
mother followed advice of Carlton Fredericks,
renown radio commentator
and writer on health and nutrition
ne'er did mine lovely bones buckle,
even when skinny body crushingly embraced
into loving maternal fold,
without doubt mama adored motherhood
and brood of three offspring

harmonized, memorialized, pampered...
the hardworking de facto breadwinner
late twenty something handsome groom fêted
born April 9th, nineteen twenty nine,
Brooklyn fortune teller travails foretold,
when the late Harriet Harris, not so gold
din as totally bewitched, she gamely evinced
controlling authoritarian versus
crooning, marveling, and warbling
regarding once "little monkey" - me,

which pet name no longer applied
shucked off brought to abrupt halt
as yours truly grew up,
and decried childhood's end
I experienced objection to thwart growing up,
and latched unto anorexia nervosa
countless moons ago,
when I biologically, emotionally sexually transitioned 
into socially withdrawn young man,
once indomitable omnipotent

mother/son bond ex post facto lost hold,
where once applicable theme
exemplifying Harris household
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
dramatically, markedly plummeting
formerly measurable appreciable tolerance,
similarly short tempered patriarch
( ~6'2” ~ 200 lbs at prime)
over any five members,
especially toward singular male offspring

timid, meek, and demure (effeminate) me,
essentially ruled the roost
regarding Harris household
sole son characterized vis a vis
presented passive resistant
outward nonestablishmentarian mold
worst case scenario
would witness Matthew Scott Harris
spending longevity old and feeble minded
at 324 Level Road

outliving parents, pets
(comprising inordinate
number of dust bunnies) and siblings
(an older and younger sister),
the latter whose globetrotting exploits I envied,
nevertheless outlived anyone polled
even Methuselah, where mein kampf
blissful, fanciful, nouveau poet
nearly long forgotten boyhood charade,
facade inlaid masquerade

crumbled like broken scaffold
attaining centenarian years old -
faintly maintaining umbilical stronghold
considerably surpassing mommy dearest,
born November 13th, nineteen thirty five,
yet moments before her passing
she barely audibly apologized
for occasions she did reprimand and scold
retaliated against grim reaper,
he whisked her diseased riddled body away
after completing seventy plus orbits, all told.

I experienced interminable
relentlessly psyche burning acrid
tormenting, teasing, and talking funny
bullying vulnerability compounded amid
courtesy of split uvula set me apart
alien as a Druid livingsocial
during latter half of twentieth
and first two decades of twenty first century
rather a speech pathologist
informed legal biological guardians

regarding Lancaster Cleft Palate Clinic
minor congenital defect when
attending sixth grade at
Henry Kline Boyer Elementary
i.e., submucous cleft palate, aforesaid
whereby every day akin getting scorched
by some "NON FAKE" ironclad grid
me, this twangy nasal kid
my undersized and socially
withdrawn demeanor contributing
to existence tumultuous and turbid.

courtesy latitudinarian, nonestablishmentarian,
sexagenarian, and Unitarian son
and modest mastermind maven maverick.

Another anniversary of her death occurs
upon advent of
May fourth two thousand and five,
not quite seventy years since her birth
November thirteenth nineteen thirty five,
nor fifty years
a married bride at age nineteen,
cuz back in dem days,
an unmarried woman
at twenty five would be
written off as a spinster.

Way back before
this baby boomer waz astute
countless decades before
aye became long in the tooth,
and also prior tomb ma mouth
sporting dentures to boot
fond memories rush
linkedin to moody blues
more than so far back
envisioning illusory wind blown steppes

(wait...this visage belongs to thine
long since deceased maternal grandfather
hub hill eave didst hail from Kiev,
(now spelled Ukrainian version - Kyiv)
or some place thereabouts within the mind
of this prevaricating aging
"FAKE" barnstorming ole coot
preserved records,
(those times before cds or dvds)
and now rewinds tape

when family of origin
celebrated Xmas secular Harris
house style rendition of Magic Flute,
though genealogy steeped in Judaism
recollections abound of boyhood mirth
devoid of aforementioned rubric asper
orthodox and/or reformed
Judeo-Christian religion,
which essentially means,
I did not give or take a hoot

nonetheless cherish fond memories,
when ma late mum
relished making a hoo ha,
and got tickled and pickled pink
rousing a hullabaloo wrapping presents
and jamming three knee high stockings
with healthy goodies such as fruit
cuz, as a devotee
of Carleton Fredericks,
she frowned on giving out sweets

particularly to three children she begat,
(myself and two sisters)
and iced hill easily
recall her poker faced
feigning complete ignorance and surprise
sheep played “dumb” as did father
convincingly not giving a hoot
puzzled asper neatly wrapped and
stacked gifts under decorated tree
while distorted reflections of stockings

fractal shimmers from metallic gewgaws
in tandem of nostalgic magic
worth mo' than any amount of loot,
perhaps Christmas festivities a flash point moot,
when some jolly codger (papa)
dressed up, sans Santa Claus suit
and petsmart dogs doubled up as reindeer,
whose canine barking,
cavorting, and dashing
haphazardly set them

on a direct rural route
to pandemonium as crashing trimmed tree
cacophony elicited laughter, punctuated
equilibrium with irrepressible
escaped bursts of flatulence
(ah won't mention hoof from)
that emulated a toot.