Wednesday, October 31, 2018

Who will you be on Halloween? Poems: Start the New Year with a breezy ride in a convertible - Halloween World and the Crowning Achievement of the Stars


They go fast, these calendars,
so stuffing myself with the last of my
famous green bean salad,  I
walked down the path behind
my house, through the parking lot
of unionized Keystone Screw,
and trotted down the hill.

Backpack on in case I was run over
or suffered a diabetic low.

Pausing to cross busy Davisville Road
I launched myself like a Kenyan sprinter
across the crowded street.

A red car was zooming by.
No prob, I thought, as I jumped
with a whoop in the street,
but to my surprise my legs bent
and I nearly fell.

Walking on the sidewalk I looked
at the recyclables waiting for
tomorrow's pick-up.

Oh, dear God, we ARE a drinking nation.
So many fat-sos, bellies hanging like
fluffy pillows below their belts.

"Thanks, Barbara," I say arriving at
REMS, which happens to be the owners'
last name. A pretzel lover, like me,
she doesn't look up.

Carrying two calendars, one for me,
one for Scott, I crossed the street
like a champ.

Private property, reads the sign
in unionized Keystone Screw.

The hilly path has gnarled tree roots
The first one I could not breast.
Sitting on the root, I crawled
on my butt to get atop it.

Mother would yell at me, I thought,
getting my favorite blue pants

Our past is always with us.

But on New Year's Day, 2019,
I shall be driving a shiny 1970
turquoise Mercury Cougar.

Watch me soaring through the
neighborhood, with Kookie Kookie
Lend me Your Comb, beside me,
hand on my thigh.

As I pull up my driveway
sprinkled with snow dust
why am I driving my
usual car, wipers flicking
off the lovely snow?

Rem said: You were like Odysseus, bracing the red car and Davisville Road  which correlate to the Cyclops and the Mediterranean. The auto shop correlates to Ithaca. Sorry, I'm getting all Modernist.--Rem

I like it, I like it, Telemachus, I wrote back.

Love Mom/Penelope

Have I posted this yet?


Hear the howling of the wind?
As if all the hatred in the world
were swept up into a fungus of evil

Pitch black, Scott and I, wrapped
in warm clothes, walked down our
street, not a drop of light
to guide our way

"Halloween Row" like "synagogue row"
on Easton Road, was dressed in every
shade of orange imaginable

And what an imagination our neighbors
have! Who knew? Standing there
I was a child again. Daddy took us
for drives to see the lights. Back
then, only Christmas lights were up.

Tombstones, skeletons lying on the grass,
witches swinging from the trees, and eleven
are dead at Squirrel Hill Synagogue in

Shot! Bullets pinging from the peaceful
chapel where a baby-naming ceremony
was going on.

One of the houses had vapor spewing
from some sort of machine, another
house had lights projected onto
their brick, this house, always has
its front door open, like I do.

Trick or treat. Judy is giving out
Sunmaid Raisins. I've got a Woolworth's
shelf filled with M&Ms and tiny
Hershey Bars, nothing better than candy
my dear, hollared the wicked witch,
for the little beggars, as my -ex
used to call them.

Where are the winds of love?
Where are the winds of peace?
Where are the winds of all religions
proclaiming to the nations
God is love?

As I just told Mom, my candy is by the door. The M&Ms are in one bowl, the Hershey Bars in another. The smell is nauseatingly sweet.

Why, then, is my mouth watering?

Gotta make a salad now, while listening in the kitchen to "What is What" by Dave Eggers, a novel about a young man making his way from Sudan to the U.S.

You think YOU have problems?

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