Golden Staph, Such a sweet, mellifluous name.
Its Latin counterpart, staphylococcus aureus,
just as euphonious, a name fit for a new species
of wildflower, an exotic dessert, or a freshly discovered
galaxy, glowing golden. at the edge of the universe;
even the bacilli under the eyes of an electron microscope
look like jolly mauve mushrooms clustered in a field
not the toxic toadstools they are.
*photo courtesy of CDC
Kiss Curl .
I love the way the wind
plays with my hair
when I whisk along the road
windows wound down
twirls my comb-over
into a kiss curl
like Bill Hayley in the fifties.
Rock around the clock, baby.
*pic courtesy of pinterest
Please Don’t Stare.
It’s not as bad as the horns
on Hellboy’s head
even when filed down to stubs
or the protrusions
on Elephant Man’s face
or that raspberry stain the shape of Africa
on the barista’s cheek that day in the mountains
but the volcanic cone,
a miniature Vesuvius,
on my forehead
is an eye popper
and looks like it’s about
to go off.
I have a rare blood disorder.
I can’t remember its name.
It’s a long word beginning with W
and it’s not a cancer.
It’s an indolent disease that has taken nine years
to get to the stage where it needs treatment.
I’m having a bone marrow biopsy on Friday
to determine what needs to be done but it will involve
some chemo.
On top of this I’ve had a bad cold which really
knocked me around.
Cold sores galore. Unable to shave.
Is anyone listening ?
And if that isn’t enough I’ve got a lump
on my forehead, a conical angry lump
that makes me look like a Tod Browning freak.
People stare.
Booked in Tuesday with the skin specialist
to have it removed.
If it’s not one thing, it’s another
I wish you all good health for ’23.
*pic courtesy of pinterest
To the uninitiated , mysterious as
the moon monoliths in 2001 ;
pensioned off light-houses ? a giant’s
apartment house or a giant
phallus set in cement , a reminder
to the young colony —
populate or perish ? they come in
all shapes and sizes ; rise
suddenly from the landscape like
mushrooms with their long
stalks and caps yet exist singly —
it is houses that cluster
around them ; scattered around the
countryside they are tall
as wheat silos though their bellies
seem full of water
but why windows — for fish to peer
through ? or doors — what if
someone should break in ? only the tops
hold water , I am told ,
like a water tank on a stand ; largely
redundant , now they are
being sold off like unwanted churches ;
yet I consider them ,
their brief reign ; for me they always
held more than water
Iron Man isn’t up to it today.
You can tell by the way he slopes around
in his baggy shorts and tee
dazed like he’s been smoking weed.
He dawdles a lot between reps.
Guzzles the urine coloured liquid to replace the energy he hasn’t used.
Plays with the machines like a cat with a mouse.
Jabbers at Stella how she isn’t doing it right,
to anyone really with a loose ear.
Truly he is more motor-mouth than Iron Man.
You look like a man who could wear pink, she said,
handing me the mask along with the compliment.
I have never thought of myself as a man who could wear pink
but the dental assistant thought so too
though in her T-shirt and jeans and muscly arms festooned
with inky blue tatts of scaly winged dragons she wasn’t wearing
an iota of pink.
She looked indie, edgy like I wanted to look but I was the man
who wore pink.
I wore it all the way to the car park then bravely wore it
in the nearby shopping centre where Pink was playing
over the P.A system.
Was that a sign?
Then went home with it still on.
The next day I put on a blue mask but I did wear
my mauve short-sleeved shirt when I went out.
Does that count?
Hollywood said
yr smile
too crooked
yr head
the wrong shape
neck
too long
sex appeal
zero
yr figure
more mandolin
than guitar
her name?
Marlene Dietrich
*pic courtesy of Wikipedia
Mustafa who knew me well was a refugee too: he from Syria, me from the realm of common sense.
How would you like it cut? he asked.
Like yours, I said.
Like mine?
Yes.
He didn’t chuckle. He didn’t comment on the outrageousness of my request.
Apart from the difference in hair color, there was also the disparity in volume though he admitted, even at 27, he was losing his hair.
He cut, he swooped, he shaved, he teased and cajoled but when finished he wrought a little miracle.
How did it look? Shaved at the sides , but on top what hair I had was swept to the other side of my head and held down by gel. It looked amazing.
Askew, I said, It looks amazingly askew.
Like your writing, he said.
Yes, like my writing.
John Malone 