"wheeler" poems
Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight
Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape
Summer again
I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening
For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….
She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…
The queen will be safe here
from the rabble
The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
Among these lofty cliffs
Between the raging circuit of the tide
Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
Here lovers learn
the debt of love’s bad timing
“Drink ye all of it!”
--the potion that assigns our sorrow….
She will not sleep—
while I chew this gum-- GUM?
Roll down the window!
Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings
As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity
…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly
Their hands steady the wheel
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
Bunga Bunga everywhere,
a powerful man with silly hair
seduced a girl too young and scared,
was married too but didn’t care.
Corrupt and feared!
Bunga Bunga sounds like fun,
a swimming pool and saucy sun,
an Egyptian that was on the run
Or, under-aged Morocun
Who ****** the boss!
Bunga Bunga ***** and *****
coffles of women to choose
and buy and grab and ride and use,
with confidence
and so much to lose,
but why didn’t he lose?
Why didn’t he lose when it was on the news
and hundreds of thousands of people accused
him of scandal and incompetence?
He never revealed his conscience
or any remorse for play boy antics
so far removed from his pedantic
stereotype as a political leader,
more like a ****** wheeler dealer,
pervy old ***** geezer,
over cologned,
greasy,
heavy breather;
machinating falsifier;
misogynistic **********
He prized a Ruby above the rest.
Bunga bunga, what a pest...
she leaked his private fetish fest;
poor Silvio, he tried his best
to hide the bribes and bets
and ****** and drugs and threats
but never could care
what was right and
what was fair.
Could only care
about the colour of his
**** hair.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
In a museum, or forgotten barn,
A small red twelve inch two wheeler
Hangs on invisible wires,
Or is covered in pigeon droppings and dust.
But Tannehill rode it once,
Like something in a dream.
He was too long-framed for it.
He controlled it, rounded the corner,
Pedalling hard down the sidewalk,
Across the street from our new house.
I gawked from the front yard:
He was a boy with his bike,
Like *The ****** on T.V.
It was the first I learned to ride,
And the falls were magnificient,
On grass or asphalt.
Girls' bikes were easy,
One size fits all.
Then I learned to pedal
Beneath the cross bar of the big boys'.
Push the pedals,
Shift the midrift, and be gone.
Always from somewhere
To somewhere else,
Far from the soft front lawn.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
A grass land was there,
Birds use to dance around,
Their song echoed around,
Snake use to wonder around!
A grass land was there,
Porcupine, Rabbits, Pangolin........
Tidy around!
A grass land was there,
Raindrop meanders around!
****
Now only building and terraces are here!
Car and two wheeler running around!
Noise of human voice and machine thunderous around!
People use to say, everything is developing... in and around!
****
Still I am searching around
The elegant
Birds, their song,
The gorgeous
Snake, their beautiful scroll,
The Splendid raindrop on grass!
Still I am belligerent,
Powerless to remove my childhood memories!
****
Still searching..........
The grass land....
Birds..............
Snake...................
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
he dudes want to battle my verses
they can't even read my curses
Jamaican style,I'll ****** you with curses
then write your ulogy in cursive
you can't understand my flow your so subversive
i'm deeper than the surface,
i'm so submersive
so stop playing with my time, you are so not worth it
if you want to get beat you can get tekken,
i'll transform into sun-tsu
and use your one style against you,
theirs two sides to every story
so this plot
could get complex
i'm already at the top
so if you try to climb-max
**** could get confusing,
trust me- you don’t want me ******* to my own conclusion
don’t force my hand, I’mma a dope dealer
with more beemers than than a four wheeler
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
Trucking on the country road
Welcomed citizens waving in behold
Trucking wheels making the hill climb
Checking my rear view mirrors at the same time
Country music playing on the radio
I am observing families having a good time on their patio
I am blowing my trucker’s horn
It’s the cars I want to warn
Driving at 65 miles per hour
I have a tight schedule, and must be on time in arrive
I have very important cargo and that’s no jive
I stopped at a diner for a little bite
As it is going to be a very long night
It will be my trucker’s headlights
But to my fellow truckers I must be polite
It will be driving through towns and pass cities downtown
A moving highway into destination bound
But smoky will be on my tail
So I can’t speed being the trail
As my truck heads into the sunrise, it’s the flashing lights that make my wheeler’s wise.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
Polka Dot, Polka Dot, a one pony show
Strange name for a child, but she loves it so
Cheerful wee girl with sweet smile aglow
Adores all round shapes, expects you to know
Her twenty one garments sport assorted dots
Basic eight pairs of footwear, orange and green spots
Gaudy bows for her hair, with colored rings, lots
Dot sees spheres imbedded in her eyes and thoughts
Blankets and curtains, guess what, dots and lace
The spotted mouse toy for the cat to chase
Walls with orbs and specks on all space
In the right light they reflect on your face
Dot's off to school with a polka dot hat
Coat, umbrella with circles, imagine that
Polka dotted notebooks, pencils and backpack
Rides pink spotted two wheeler, parks in bike rack
Poor Polka Dot started feeling sickly ill
Sent to school nurse where she refused a pill
Saw the Doc, calamine lotion and advice to chill
Spots! Chickenpox! Polka Dots notable thrill
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
I walked blindly into that night,
Or so I led you to believe.
No, I knew what I was doing, and how wrong it was.
I just thought
It could stay a secret,
Just a secret
And nothing more.
Of course I hoped for more,
But how much can one hope for?
How much can one hope for with signals so unclear?
I set my goals too high
And ventured to lows too low.
I knew what I was doing,
knowing it was wrong;
Even knowing how she would feel if she found out--
I knew it was wrong.
But that didn't stop me.
No, it takes an eighteen-wheeler going eighty,
Hitting me right in the face.
It isn't until then that I see.
It isn't until then that I see I'm a selfish *****
A homewrecker of sorts--
Undeserving of your love.
Leave me here,
Alone,
To bask in my desperation.
Though I'd give you my heart in a second,
Turn me down,
For I am more deserving of pestilence.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 11:54 AM UTC
Blinded by the sunlight that shines so brightly,
it proceeds to massage my spectacles,
rinsing the grime away from my eyes,
there lived mankind, buildings, plants, and animals,
but where was I, unaware of the planet I saunter,
I look in amazement, unborn to what to forecast,
but then I distinguished the dark side, somber and bleak,
impoverished skeletons walking hunchbacked, desperately
scrambling for silver, as so to purchase a bottle of liquor and a burger to indulge his vacancy that absents him,
as I trek my way further into this metropolis,
I hear a sudden commotion arising from the right direction,
it begins to steer me that way, luring me in deeply there was a mass of onlookers chanting on, of what seemed to be two individuals pummeling one another into a bloodbath, but then it escalated, the crowd began to all partake in the beating and it caused a mayhem, that was uncontrolled, I bolted the scene, protecting my mask from getting dismantled, as suddenly I hear a very deafening noise, it was a four wheeler wagon, that speedily amtrac it's way towards the locus in which we was in, everyone scattered the scene, as the people who dressed in uniform annihilated the scene, putting an outright stop to the madness that occurred, forestalling future procreation from the participants, my heart shriveled and I gasped for air, I ran aimlessly into a town that was lively and sunny, as I saw mankind playing sports, clubbing, riding nice convertibles, homes were futuristic, plants were vegetated, smiles and giggles were infectious, everyone was cheerful and amused enjoying this utopian I discovered, it was care-free, as folks walked in suit and ties, formal dresses, luggages entering and exiting, dialect as clear as caribbean sea, friendly animals chaperoned by their owner, "where am I?", "what was this strange but yet interesting soil I embark on?", ..... I don't know, but it closes me in like a maze and I'm forced to live as they.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
If I have children
Who have children
I would be the Best
and the Worst
Grandparent
I would teacher my grandchild
How to ride a two-wheeler
A month after they graduate to training wheels
Their parents would be so mad
But I would just laugh
And give their children ice cream
I would give my grandchildren cookies
to eat before dinner
I wouldn't be spoiling their appetite
Because cookies are real food
I would teach my grandchildren piano
And give them a drum set
My own children would hate me
As the sound of un-choreographed noise
Sounds day and night
If my grandchildren stayed the night
I would let them stay up later
Then their parents allowed
and feed them all types
Of sugar and candies
Before returning them home
I would do everything
A parent would faint at
But
My grandchildren would love me
I would be the Best
and the Worst
Grandparent
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
More than just mounds of muscle galore
A curiosity where one must experience in explore
A body composition from before to present
The use of weights in repetitions
These are the forces in bodybuilding’s condition
Bodybuilding is about construct
It is all about proportion if one decides to compete
You must be committed and not take shortcuts known as cheat
Yet one’s physique must be complete from the shoulders to the feet
Lifting heavy weights is like Hercules in a feat
Intensity will play being the determination all the way
However, one must understand how much intensity their body can take
Yet you must have good health conditions in exercise before attempting any heavy training you decide to make
Bodybuilding means having a goal and what you want to achieve
Never listen to anyone about enhancing drugs, as it is a deception for you to be deceived
Bodybuilding is about bringing and contouring all the muscles together
Being a true destined Bodybuilder like no other
The mystique will be one’s desired physique
I have met Bodybuilding champs in their day such as Arnold Schwarzenegger, Serge Nubret, Harold Poole, Leon Brown, Flex Wheeler, Kevin Levrone, Mike Ashley and many others
They had assurance and confidential in being determined to win
Mr. Schwarzenegger became the top ranking Mr. Olympia
Mr. Olympia being the highest honor throughout Bodybuilding
Those Bodybuilding champions mentioned had their plan from their beginning from when
The new breed of Bodybuilders are following in their footsteps and making their mark
Bodybuilders in general are thinking from their own fitness from then
They put determination in making it a can
Bodybuilding is truly about how your body can respond to certain exercises and how it can be shaped
The training principles come together in how they are relate
So you now know how Bodybuilding functions
A masterpiece constructed from sculptor with a posing stand
The array of applause under the spotlight
A determination in the Bodybuilder become the step out pose
The thinking of revelation I suppose
But Bodybuilding is about the flex and not become perplexed.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 6:02 PM UTC
At the 206 bus stop I patiently wait
For the red bus that's always late.
I have now waited over an hour
And my mood is surely turning sour.
I crane my neck for the glimpse of that bus
Which, when moves makes ruckus.
I am excited by the noise of yonder thunder
Alas it turns out to be a school bus, oh what a blunder.
I'm tired, hungry and even ready for bed
Yet compelled to wait for the bus in red.
If only I had money for a three wheeler
Alas I can't afford it on my income meager.
My patience is put to a severe T-E-S-T
As I stoically wait for the B-E-S-T.
A serpentine queue has now formed
But come the bus its door will be stormed.
My hopes rise upon the sight of something red
Alas it's a bus of another route instead.
The hunger has traveled from stomach to mind
Can someone please a solution to this delay find?
At the 206 bus stop I patiently wait
For the red bus that's always late!
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
Hauling Jack I am called
My truck rely gets stalled
I drive a powerful 18 wheeler and being a sturdy trucker
I travel from coast to coast
My story is not much to boost
I drive for “GOT YOUR STACK TRUCKING COMPANY”
I am on my CB radio talking to Trucker Flipping Sal
We actually grew up together and he is my pal
I am cruising at 75
But when I am living, it is about staying alive
I got my eyes for highway Smoky
At times he will give me a wave
Then there’s other times I get a warning in behave
My job is pretty cut and dry
Driving helps pass the time away
I have seen a lot while driving these highways
I have seen Greyhound buses signal on by
There were steep hills my truck had to try
Then there were trucks with blown out tires and sometimes their brakes could fail
Being a trucker has no fancy tail
This trucker only wants to share the trail
It’s just a job and how a trucker prevails
Hauling Jack is a man who hauls a pack
Once to the final destination, it’s a matter to unpack then reload
Hauling Jack in highway knows, and it was illustrated in being the show.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
The first time I saw a woman body
It was a delicate sweet flower
The ******* were perky and stuff
It was a sensual brew that sooth
There is a miracle in a woman touch
It's the sign of her reflection to mine
The first dream I had was with her
It was a taboo, a secretive rendezvous
Her lips were swollen with hasty lust
I was in her list and she followed
She swallowed her pride to touch me
I run for the fear of misjudgement
The first scream I had was with her
It was when I stopped my soul to want
To eat that fruit that wasn't masculine
To bathe in the summer fest and rivers
She crawled her nails, a scratch on me
She craved my source to hold her own
That was long ago, yet there is a wish
A call to taste her strawy honeyed set
To kiss her toes and finger her moles
Would she be part of a 3rd wheeler?
Rotate her hips as he ropes the pole
Whilst the other controls the rythym
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 3:53 PM UTC
Destiny's child
had a smile,
"How are you doin"
She winked.
"There have been many
close calls,
I've done my best
Afraid you'll have to do the rest"
Yanked out of the way
of that car
flying by at a hundred miles an hour
paused just long enough,
Didn't fall when surrender called.
There was that 18 wheeler
changing lanes fast,
Snow flying everywhere,
Couldn't see me,
Moved on over to the center divider,
The only place not concrete,
Destiny's child
she likes to smile,
Laughs with glee,
A tinkerbell to me.
The CHP didn't look into my pocket
"Please"
Destiny's child
she's been on my side,
I just go along for the ride,
She takes care of everything.
We've all had 'em
many close calls,
Almost near falls,
Some have her
some don't,
Some survive,
Some die.
Directing traffic,
Destiny's child,
Roads not taken
every once in a while.
There she goes laughing,
She can be pretty wild,
Destiny's child.
There ought to be a Tarot card
with her name,
When she steps in
the game will change,
She knows how to dance on the
head of a pin,
Change generations
with a gleeful laughing grin.
Destiny's child
She was there that night,
When I was looking through the circular light
Stop sign with a grin,
She knows when you gotta end,
She knows when you gotta begin.
You'll catch her out of the corner
of your eye,
When the light's just right,
She ain't up there with the green flash,
But she definitely has class.
Destiny's child,
I'll be grateful to her
'till the last gasp.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
I am a physician.Last fall, I had a very interesting
conversation with a patient who is a trucker. I asked her if she knew
anything about deep underground military bases, and then I played ignorant
to see what she would say.
Without further prompting, she informed me she is an independent contractor
trucker, driving 18-wheeler rigs cross-country. She said the bases are real
and are located all over the country, "especially under the mountains out
West". She said one of her main contracts over the last few years has been
with DHS.
She said there are underground roads running all over the United States,
connecting the underground facilities.
She said she has personally delivered many truckloads of supplies to the
underground facilities. For each DHS shipment/delivery, there was a stack
of non-disclosure forms about (by her description) six inches thick she had
to sign.
DHS would attach a tracking device to her truck for each of these shipments
and monitor her truck's every move. She would be told where to go to accept
delivery for each shipment. In each case, she would be escorted by guards
"with machine guns" away from her truck, so she could not see what was
being loaded into her rig. The truck would then be locked by a large lock
with a ring 'as big around as your finger", which had to be torch-cut off
at the time of delivery.
When she would make deliveries, often within underground facilities, she
would again be escorted away from the truck by armed guards, the lock would
be cut off, and the goods would be unloaded.
She said the only shipped goods she ever saw in these DHS shipments were
stackable black plastic things that looked like coffins.
She told be the gov't is getting ready for a collapse, which she told be
she expected might happen as early as late 2014.
She also told me she thinks the gov't has just about everything is needs
stored underground, because the number of DHS shipments has been
declining.
I asked her if she would be willing to have lunch with me and tell me more.
She replied, "yes", but afterwards when I contacted her, she had changed
her mind and would not talk further about it with me.
Another pt of mine, whom I saw within about a week of this lady, is a local
trucker, but he told me that he has lots of friends who are truckers, and
through them, he said he had learned that there are "thousands of miles of
underground roads" running across the country, connecting underground gov't
facilities.
He had just recently, in fact, heard among his trucker friends of a
shipment of frozen meat being shipped to one such underground facility,
totaling four million pounds of meat.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
8am-light is bursting through
My shades as I take my shower.
Once I dress myself, I reheat
The coffee my wife left me.
I step outside to be met by
The crisp air of waning summer.
Like every day, I notice the
Vibrant boa scarf of purple wildflowers
That adorn the shoulders of
Wheeler and Monitor.
The sky is not falling, and
It is true what has been said,
'The fear of something happening
Is worse than it actually happening.'
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 4:00 PM UTC
If Wishes were for fishes
All my dreams would come true
Thankfully I am fish, I know my sign
I know how to make my dream be the rewarding kind
I have dreamed
I swam upriver
I am here at the top of the United States
I am ready to plant my feet
Just about where the USA and Canada meet
I found my home, my ranch, my dream
Now let me move and fuffill my lifes' greatest dreams
The yards have gardens apples and pears
There is the sound of cows everywhere!
Miles surround us of land that we have rights to
At night the sky full of stars the only lights to look up to
Cougars and bears will be seen
But we are country women, we are keen
Montana born, country mean
Don't ya'all worry
I got this shit..all I need now is a riffle, an ax
and maybe a 4 wheeler machine ; )
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
Bruised.
Left and right, top and bottom,
Inside and out.
I survived that hellish tsunami of pain
that, flying like a 18-wheeler with cut brakes
on spiteful repeat
wrung my mind and emotions to alternating panic
and zombie-like numbness.
Funny how bruises blossom in different ways;
your betrayal, so deep, sends up saplings to sting me
at the most inopportune, unpredictable times.
I thought I was immune now,
Enough brushes against the anemone
sufficient tapering of the drugs of anger and regret
And I was sure,
sobbing alone,
in the bathtub,
done.
.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 6:29 AM UTC
that summer, Born to Be Wild
and Mrs. Robinson were on AM,
A & W Drive Inns served frosted mugs
and Tet’s blood had not long dried black
on Saigon streets
my thumb took me from the green tipped tongue
of western Kentucky across the wide world
to a café in Santa Rosa, where I spent my last
eighty-five cents, on a tuna sandwich
and chips
a bus bench was waiting for me
when the cafe closed its doors
at 12:10, the old waitress giving me
a generous extra dime of time,
knowing I had to face the night
and the bench, or the New Mexico road
I chose the latter and headed south
under coal dark skies
only eighteen wheelers passed, their screaming lights
robbing me of what quiet vision night’s monotony had granted
they saw my thumb, but not one stopped; they did not know I had walked
a dozen dark dead miles, and had not closed my eyes in 60 hours
nor did they care, about me, or my shadow on Highway 54
I talked to pinyons, cedars that dotted the mesas
and moved about like mournful buffalo, stirred to life
by a sound or a scent, perhaps my own foul road bouquet,
though they were mute, even when I asked them
if I was seeing god in their measured marching
across my desert dream
long before
the dawn I begged to come
I saw him, dead center on my highway
so black he was blue, his eyes like two emeralds
hanging in some ethereal space, staring at me, the rest
of the absent world unaware he was there, growling
the rumble so low I tasted it, as he might taste me,
I felt our nostrils flair, as his would when
he devoured me, I saw the blood feast
through our eyes, the last morsel of me,
a pale art form on an asphalt palette
as he swallowed the last of his meal
the eighteen wheeler came, its high beams bouncing off him
only long enough for me to see his mouth was dry
and his belly empty, before he vanished
into the blue night
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
This one's for the 20 kids
Now all dead, god forbid
For the parents who now cry
Who always ask themselves, "why?"
For those teachers killed on the job
Their entire city mourns and sobs
For all the people who took a fall
I support you and I bless you all.
To the familes of Charlotte Bacon, Daniel Barden, Rachel Davino, Olivia Engel, Josephine Gay, Ana M. Marquez-Greene, Dylan Hockley, Dawn Hochsprung, Madeleine F. Hsu, Catherine V. Hubbard, Chase Kowalski, Jesse Lewis, James Mattioli, Grace McDonnell, Anne Marie Murphy, Emilie Parker, Jack Pinto, Noah Pozner, Caroline Previdi, Jessica Rekos, Avielle Richman, Lauren Rousseau, Mary Sherlach, Victoria Soto, Benjamin Wheeler, and Allison N. Wyatt.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
They said Keith couldn't *** without a finger up his ***
they said Ruth was a **** for not sleeping with her man.
They said George was a woman because he couldn't grow a beard,
they said Molly was autistic, because she was a little bit weird.
They said Mr. Winchester was a ********** because he wore an overcoat,
they said Ms. Wheeler as a witch, and once sacrificed a goat.
They said Mr. Winter was so fat, he was more or less bulletproof,
they said Ms. Walker was not attractive, but if it came to it:
she'd have to do.
They said Lucinda was thin because she chose not to eat,
sitting by the bathroom doors in the lunchtime canteen.
They said Leonard was a ****** with his long, blonde hair,
they said Luke was a downy because of his vacant stare.
They said Mr. Fresco was a drinker who beat his wife at home,
they said Ms. Finkel was a ********** seen standing out in the cold.
They said an awful lot of things that decayed away over time,
but it takes a strength to train the mind
to not trod the tracks of a lifetime past,
to keep yourself to who you are,
not those ancient words,
nor those faded scars.
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
daddy was a trucking man thats all he ever knew
everywhere he went daddy took me to
listen to the country songs as he drove along
we would sing together to a country song
travel every highway in his 16 wheeler friend
every dusty road each and every bend
daddy told me stories of places he has been
about his trucking days all the things he seen
he would talk to friends on his CB radio
all his CB buddies that he got to know
someday when im older ill be a trucker to
doing all things me and daddy used to do
i wont forget my daddy and his trucking way
all the country songs that he used to play
every where he went he would take me to
trucking was his life all he ever knew
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 12:32 PM UTC
The trees overlapped
overhead creating a warm
cloister.
Harvey's car cooed past
the vibrant green
and sputter-stopped
at the plastic, fishhead
mailbox.
He drove up the grey gravel drive,
hopped out of his car and
with eager stride
headed toward
the door of the widow Prine.
"Hello, Harvey," Mrs. Prine
greeted from behind the screen
in her always-sugary-hushed tone.
"Hey, Mrs--I mean hello, Margaret."
"Haha, you remembered this time.
C'mon in, sweetie."
Harvey's steps matched gentle creaks
in wooden floor.
Pictures of Mrs. Prine's
three children lined the walls.
"That's Mattie, Cindy's baby. My first grandbaby,"
Mrs. Prine beamed.
"She's a cutie."
"Well thank you," Mrs. Prine picked up
some magazines lying on the couch,
"feel free to sit here. Can I get you something to drink?
Some wine, maybe? It's a red."
"Sure, sure. Sounds good."
Mrs. Prine stepped into the kitchen,
as the evening news played at a barely
audible volume.
"Oh Lord. I forgot to put the wine in the
fridge, Harvey."
"That's okay, Mrs. Prine. I can--"
"Margaret."
"Margaret, I can drink it warm."
"How about some ice cubes?"
"That works too."
Mrs. Prine's husband died
driving an 18-wheeler,
six-miles outside of Dallas
two or three years ago.
One of the few times
a sedan won a war
against a big engine.
Her cheek bones
jutted sharply from
her face,
deep crimson lipstick
and light eyeshadow
emphasized her
few deep wrinkles,
as if she wore them
with pride.
They sat sipping lukewarm
red wine, saying nearly nothing--
touching only during commercial
breaks.
When the news ended,
Mrs. Prine grabbed Harvey's hand,
led him to the bedroom,
filled with pictures of her and her husband.
The love they made--
textbook in its precision,
light in its passion--
finished chapter,
Harvey reached for his cigarettes.
"Sweetie, please don't smoke in here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Margaret."
Harvey stared at her old life's relics,
wrapped his arm around her,
pulled her naked flesh against his,
a summer breeze crawled through
open window,
and Harvey said,
"So, tell me more about your husband."
Mrs. Prine smiled, brushed her hair
out of her eyes,
and with a retrospective sigh,
she began.
May 19, 2011
May 19, 2011 at 5:31 PM UTC
To give up without a fair fight..
Is like being killed in the dead night
A cat ran over by a ten wheeler truck
A man playing gulf when a lightning struck
Poor mouse caught in a trap
Climbing a weathered tree and snapped
Failing an exam two or three times
Placing your hands in a reeking slime
The sea came crushing in your castle
Waiting in the line with all the hustle
Unpayed bills gives all the trouble
Cruising the Atlantic lots of wobble
Ugly presents during Christmas
Pretending you have no neck mass
I could go forever as i wrote
All i need is one Antidote
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC