Archive for the ‘house of strangers’ Category

bus stop

Posted: 11/30/2014 in house of crazy, house of strangers

i was at the edge-of-Detroit Northland bus stop, minding my own,

reading the novel i’ve crawled into lately.

figures he’d pick me out.

figures he’d hassle the one middle-aged white gal in the whole place.

It was a long ten minutes

with his ugly face in mine.

with his nasty lips talking shit in my ear.

i can still hear his dumb-assed air of non-existent authority:

“i asked you a question! are you stupid?”

i would have loved to fight him,

and younger me would have.

instead i had to sit there saying “leave me alone” and wishing the bus would come.

I’m glad two young men finally helped me out,

let me escape.

they looked like trayvon martin or michael brown.

nassy-man looked like cliff huxtable.

just goes to show, somethin somethin, but i’m too jangled to put it clear.

meanwhile, i’ll have this cut on my cheek and nick on my lip

for a week or ten days, i guess,

to remind me of my vulnerability.

_____

a poem in three tenses for Real Toads mini challenge.

 

 

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i came in with sugar donuts

white as sweet ghosts

round as rings.

 

we got white fingers from the sugar donuts,

white lips and messy sheets

on a bed where we didn’t care about later.

 

i went to the bakery like i said,

but my sweet-eyed love, there is so much i never tell you.

 

i came in with sugar donuts,

but the sweet dust i just fed you

could’ve been anything.

____

for Mama Zen’s Words Count

beneath a crappy reproduction of some crappy Spanish scene,

you hogged the sheets and allowed as to how you dint think this was my first time to the dance.

“ain’t my last, neither,” I said, diggin my bra out of my boot and collectin’ my keys off the carpet.

(it ain’t the same bein’ cinderella

in texas.)

_______

for Real Toads Sunday whatchacallit, and Fred Rutherford’s “firsts” thingie.

What a loser.

me and poison apple are settin up our stuff

on the stage at bayou pumpsie’s southern rib palace.

it’s late afternoon. the lights are on and the place is mostly empty

except for this guy at the bar wearin a wife beater and a bill cap.

he got hair in his ears and lots to say.

“what’s a purty little gal like you doin’ in a place like this?’ he say, grinnin like he just thought it up.

cos yankee stadium was booked, you dumb cocksucker, i think, but i’m too much the lady to say.

how come these guys hit forty,

get comfy at a gig in the shipping department at asshat & sons,

and all sudden like, they think god reached down and filled their bald empty domes with all the knowledge and wisdom of the freakin ages?

they start up with “what ya got to understand”

and wind up with

“see what i’m sayin?”

no, dude, you too deep for me,

like a stall ain’t been mucked out for fifty fuckin years.

i’m thinkin, mister, you the kentucky derby of bullshit.

you the super bowl of fuckin stupidity.

you the grand marshall of the talkin-out-your-ass parade.

the guy at the bar sips his beer,

and my ears almost stop bleedin.

then he’s off again, he knows every player on every team in every sport,

but can’t find his dick with both hands and a pack of hound dogs.

he in mid rant when it starts up from the stage–

feedback like jimi hendrix passin a kidney stone.

“oops” i say and

smile quietly to m’self, cos i’m

ever the fuckin lady.

_____

for kerry’s challenge at real toads

Lilah

Posted: 07/01/2012 in house of crazy, house of strangers

lilah come down

from where the chokecherries grow–

she slip low and quiet like the moon near dawn.

lilah don’t speak

from the runner boys’ trap–

roped her to a barrow wheel most of a week.

ain’t no teacher, ain’t no doctor,

ain’t no pastor put her right–

she sleep with the dogs

and the dogs don’t bite.

lilah come down

from where the chokecherries grow–

she only lift her face when the north wind blow.

_____

for Poetry Jam “mood swings”

 

think i’ll never be nothin?

i’ll show you somethin.

scored it, smoked it, four times, five.

think i’m just evil?

i’ll show you evil.

did the devil and the devil was fine.

people say coal, she’s outta control;

rage on coal, have another drink.

pain is art and the razor’s sharp,

bleed, coal, bleed, in the bathroom sink.

think I cause ya shame?

i’ll show ya shame,

every time i hear my name.

fuck it, floor it,

blow the red,

with any luck i’ll show ya dead.

_____

for Real Toads “Bridge of Asses” challenge. I chose to see it as an impossible road to walk. They say that if you don’t remember your last drink, you haven’t had it yet. Coal remembers.