Rem mentioned the poet HD. Hilda Doolittle. No relation to the doctor. So I done wrote a poem about her.
HILDA
in Africa dark
a maiden there
was crowned
with coffee beans
i chanced by on
a safari with
friends and
never
have I
been the same
lying in bed
under the ceiling fan
dust motes
smote me
and i wish
for me own
demise
***
GOOD MORNING, FACEBOOK FRIENDS
I couldna wait to get out of
bed and feel the cold air
on my cheeks
63 in the living room
14 on the front stoop
Where had my warm sock
gotten to under the covers?
My house is as bright
as a thousand candles
at a Bruce Springsteen show
But now I must leave you.
Sarah Brightman's playing
on the kitchen recorder
and a ham and cheese omelet
is waiting to be built
from the fridge
Coffee? It's perking
and bubbling in the kitchen
and smelling as sweet as
a newborn babe.
***
Freezin cold as I marched, yellow pitcher in hand, to the compost heap.
Now, ladies and gents, upstairs I go to read under the covers.
Nelson DeMille is in the lead as his library book A Cuban Affair is due soon. Not all that good, to tell the truth.
Oh! You like MY writing, Mr DeMille. That's me, always jokin.
***
Meet me at Boston Market,
she said, and presented
me with the nearly completed
thesis of her broken
daughter. Marion! You
have died a thousand deaths
since then.
I put your daughter's
neatly typed work in
the bottom drawer of
Aunt Ethel's bureau
which still smelled
of the cigarettes that
would eventually kill her.
The thesis lay there
useless, absorbing
the smells of the
house - did Sarah and
Dan know about this?
Until, finally, in a
fog, I waved them away
on garbage day.
***
Cat cup that Ethan always liked was returned at my bday party by my sister Donna.
Speaking of Boston Market - and yes I've wrin a couple of poems about it - my former client Julie and I would eat there - Sodium Capital of the Western World.
***
The last drawer in Aunt Ethel's bureau now contains letters I'd written to her.
***
Temp please: 17 and rising.
Gonna shop at the Giant now.
No comments:
Post a Comment