I'm coming over to watch Edwin Mueller and his Sunday film noir. First, I gotta eat my breakfast and then write a poem for Facebook.
FILM NOIR SUNDAY
ON TURNER CLASSIC
FILMS
The whole country
it seems is in
film noir mode
the president our country
coughed up from the
depths makes the
morning news
every day. That face!
That grin! That
orangutan hair!
His clueless missus
he accidentally
insults - wink wink -
so what's there to do?
I listen to Vivaldi on
YouTube and give thanks
that we all were
together at Mom's yesterday.
A feast awaited. Chocolate
truffles the baby swung in
her tiny hands, then,
face aglow clapped clapped
as Mom paddy-caked her
and thanked us all for
visiting.
Driving home in the dark
down backbending side roads
a white-tailed deer was camouflaged
against the leaves. Was this
Willow Grove or was it
the Afghan?
Another sip of organic
green tea, please!
***
The first film was quite good. Scott slept thru it but I woke him up at the suspenseful end.
Hitchcock's STRANGERS ON A TRAIN.A couple of scenes take place at an amusement park in CT, I believe. Very frightening! Reader, does thou know other films where the locale is at an amusement park.
After STRANGERS, I went home to prepare sub-lunch, and returned for the second film of the day. It was introduced by Ben Mankiewicz and one of the TCM Fans. The woman liked an early Wm Powell film, where he was romantically linked with Kay Francis.
Read this 1932 review.
Could this be the reason I bought a hot dog when I got gas at the Giant. Scott had $1.79 off so he said I saved $9 on gas.
Then we walked at the Pennypack. Hadn't been there for ages. It's been c cold outside!
TWO POEMS FROM MY FAMOUS VOLUME: "Facebook Poem of the Day"
BREAKFAST OF
MY DREAMS
The coffee is
hot! Rum Coffee
from a Caribbean
Cruise I took with
the kids in February.
Me back always hurts
in the morning. While
stepping into a
pair of pants, I put
both feet in a single
leg, fell to the floor
and thought, This CANNOT
have happened to me.
While reading in bed
earlier this morn,
I decided on my breakfast.
Coffee du jour
and the remains of
the Pumpkin Pie with
Ice Cream on top.
Later today the family
will gather at Mom's. Shall
I dress for the baby?
Nay! I shall dress for me.
In the bottom of one of
Aunt Ethels's drawers
I have found a warm
grey sweater made by
GEORGE.
Must everything end in tragedy?
George was the clothing company
sold by JFK Junior - remember his
darling salute? - before his
plane upside-downed and drowned
all aboard.
The pie was delicious. Ate it
on the front porch. A warm day
here in the suburbs of Phila-
del-PHI-ay, where my grandson
Max ran outside and said,
Bubby! Look up! Look up!
There's the crescent moon.
YES, CINDERELLA, THERE
ARE MICE AT MAR-A-LAGO
The Trump Family of
Presidential Mice
listen in to all
the conversations
unbeknownst to
his majesty, the
45th president
of the United States.
We can't help appreciating
the man. We dine on the
rich crumbs dropped beneath
the table, and love to tickle
those bare skinny legs of
that Miss Universe wife of his.
Topics were predictable.
His bare-chested hero
Vladimir the Great, Barry
Manilow, coming out as
gay, and Malia's new
boyfriend at Harvard.
Miscegenation!
Once, at night, two of us
snuck by moonlight into
his bedroom, where he
slept with hairnet
and rollers, slobbering
onto his silken pillow.
All we could do was look
at one another and stare,
leaving a little gift
on his PJs that resembled
a caraway seed.
***
Yesterday morning, it was time to upload the December schedule for New Directions. I could not remember how to do it!
I put on my thinking cap
YES! I remembered how to do it.
And printed it out.
See December schedule here.
Earlier today Scott and I drove to Bed Bath and Beyond. Since 1971. He wanted to get a couple of things. The store was wall-to-wall HOT and wall-to-wall BODIES. I'd like to write a poem about it now.
Gimme a few minutes, please!
BEWARE OF BED BATH AND BEYOND
Perched upon five parking lot layers
Go slow, lest you collide with other
shoppers' cars. Your leg muscles will
stretch as you climb what amounts to be
a small hill good for skiing in the winter.
The B and B door will whoosh open. Such
a heat breeze will shock you! First it will
feel good like stepping into a sauna,
then you'll feel like Calling Adam-12
and riding to the ER.
The store is made up of 865 different cubbyholes.
Five folk can fit inside each one. Be careful
or her hair will catch upon your pocket book
or you'll knock over a tall drinking glass
from the metal shelf.
I weigh myself on a gorgeous modern
scale. 147.4 sways the numerales. There's
not one single item I'd wanna buy.
Towels, sheets, caramel corn, ice holders.
I have everything: a cheese grater that's
32 years old, mirrors and dressers going
on 75, paintings from Dante's Beatriz, sort of,
and two swinging mobiles dans le living.
You've made it into Bed Bath and now you've
gotta go Beyond. Outside, once again. But
the shoppers are gathered in a final sale room
before the exit.
They ooh and they aah and they touch everything
in sight.
I scamper like a hop-toad, come up for air, and
ski down the hill to our car.
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