CRIME SCENE
DO NOT CROSS THE YELLOW TAPE
Shooter dead!
Who cares?
He shot my girl
Ducking under the tape
I went inside our favorite bar
A crime scene now
What horrible words
Like in a western movie
by Peckinpah
Her blonde curls
turned crimson red
I pretended she had
fallen asleep and would
carry my MaryBelle home
to bed. Chicken soup
would fix her up.
Officer Murphy took my shoulder
and led me out, out into the
world that mattered no more.
The shooter was dead. If 'n he wasn't
I would have gotten my hunting rifle
and drilled his body with more holes
than on a Swiss cheese sandwich
Life don't matter no more.
***
In addition to emailing it to a slew of friends, I sent President Trump an email saying STOP GUN VIOLENCE and printed out my poem.
***
It really disturbed me, not that the others didn't.
On the PBS New Hour Last Night I discovered an opinion columnist for The Times who interviewed a double-talking Republican. Her name is Bari Weiss.
What a remarkable writer!
***
Remember the creature in my basement? I told Scott it's a spider who hops.
That ain't no spider, he said, it's a cricket. He's got a couple of his own.
Could we implant this into Trump's brain?
***
Before I left for my first appointment with Joanna, my new piano teacher, I ate loads of healthy food so I wouldn't get a diabetic low.
The first time I drove out, directions in hand, I couldn't find it.
Called her and she clarified the directions.
The second time I drove out, I still couldn't find it.
The third time I drove out I used a cab from Bux-Mont Cab Company.
Kevin had the route on his GPS screen and we got there in 8 minutes. $5 plus tip.
Joanna lives in a huge house with a dog named Annika, a Russian name, she said.
She's very young - 24, she said - and her 1 o'clock student was waiting for her near the grand piano.
She gave me a couple of books - a music book and a book of theory - to take home.
No way was I gonna call anudder cab.
Yep, anudder long walk home in my brown clogs and navy blue socks.
Joanna came outside w me to help me get my bearings. Her dad owns a bathroom shop right next door and there was his huge truck backed in. I skinnied through and realized where I was.
A huge street I needed to cross. I can't distinguish between if the HAND that comes on means STOP or GO. But I carefully limped across the street. A nice quick limp, sort of like my cricket.
Oh, I haven't drunk any water since I been home.
At 2:30 pm, Janice from Verizon is sposed to call me. She was calling from West Virginia, Mountain Mama, take me home where I belong.
Janice promised to get my long distance service up and running. I don't blame her, but it's not working as I called my friend Helene and the Verizon voice said I was calling out of my service area.
I do have notes I have filed under my Verizon bills.
Anything else Ruthie Darling?
Yes.
I was not in the mood to work on my November novel, tentatively titled KATY AND THE GOLDFISH. But after watching Amenpour - among others, she interviewed Walter Isaacson and Doris Kearns Goodwin, whom I napped to - I simply went into my office and began tapping away.
As Cathy, the librarian, said to me, that's the way to get it done. Little by little.
Scuse me now. Time to visit Scott.
No comments:
Post a Comment