Friday, April 22, 2016

More Poetry

I began the week with a poem, so it might as well end with one. This one's a little on the whacky side, because sometimes I'm a little whacky. This would be a good spoken word poem. Imagine the slam poetry days: smoke-filled rooms, people dressed in black, and . . .  oh wait, those were my high school days.

Because I Didn't Have the Grades for Disney Land 

But I had to go somewhere, I had to get away.
So I grabbed my girl and we took a trip of our own…
Two blue-eyed blondes who looked like the results
Of one helluva night between a flower child and a metal head.
But there’s no blue in our eyes this night as we hop the bus to nowhere.
We’re all pupils: yawning black depths promising all the magic of Disney Land.
Where an old friend we know from somewhere catches our eye:
Orange Jacket, fireworks, strobe lights, sirens, crime scenes
They call ‘im Fish. Fish? Who is he kidding?
Who cares? I just need what he has:
Identification, legality, rights, eighteen, smokes.
Fantasias for fun, they light my fire, tickle my fancy
Red, purple, yellow, green, blue, and all of gold.
Trout brings me what I need and says lets hit the road Jills.
We follow Grouper through the city, alleys, dumpsters, corners, cribs
On the bus with him we go and for the first time
Us two little girls know how far from home we are.
Worlds away from the safety of our Synesthetic Suburbia.
Surrounded by Psychos and Sickos, Schizos and Slobs
Satan’s stunning slaves stare at us salaciously
Seeing the fear buried somewhere deep inside
Until the scene changes, and off behind Snapper we go again.
He knocks on windows, lurks in corners, creeps, crawls, peeks, sneaks.
Screams are heard and Pike is scared stiff.
He orders us to run, so run we do.
Will it ever end?
And then we see Him:
Greasy dark hair and tie-dyed shirt
We grab, touch, feel, pinch, pull
Hair, nose, eyes, lips, arms, chest, solid, real.
One look at our black depths brings enlightenment
"Chill soul sisters, come on in."
So in we go; somehow Mackerel’s still with us
Turned around, found us, came back for us
Mad, angry, "run he says, don’t you witches know?"
Who is this fool? Doesn’t HE know?
We saved his butt. We his angels.
He’d be in a police car, handcuffs, bars, the clink.
Now he’s here where we all have somethin’ to share
Laughter echoing the sounds of sirens
And even Tuna mellows out
Till it’s time again
Turns out Guppy’s got a house where he
Leave’s us his bed, and off to the couch
Hey, chivalry’s not dead
But we ain’t sleepin’ in this stinky scrap hole
Not with living walls screaming of
Morbid Skinny Angels and Cannibal Puppy Corpses
So out the window we go and its tastes we’re thinking of
(Flour, wheat, dough, sauce, mozzarella, pepperoni)
As we walk into bright lights and aisles where a friendly face delivers
Death, devastation, ruins, nuclear missiles
Dominos, Abos, Black Jack, Fatty J’s, Little Caesars
All mere steps, stone’s throw, hop, skip, jump away
None of which open till noon. 
But the inventions of freezers and ovens saves us.
A sweet old lady in the deli cooks cardboard wonders
And looks at us with pity, fear, wonder, shame, love.
Taking us for runaways, delinquents, addicts, streetwalkers
Seeing in us a friend, sister, daughter, herself.
She won’t take our money.
Munch, crunch, consume, devour
Lick, nibble, bite, suck, smack fingers clean
Full daylight now and our vacation’s over
One more bus ride and my girl and I part for home,
But we're already planning our next trip.