What do you want? she asks.
A zing of apricot.
A zing of apricot?
Yes, a zing of apricot and lavender jam
to set me off.
2. Frustration.
Fuss, fiddle,
turn, twiddle,
push, prod,
nup, o god !
3. The Possibility of a Poem.
No sooner does the head hit the pillow
than the possibility of a poem
taps you on the head.
4. My Mother, the Drama Queen.
I feel like the wreck of the Hesperus,
the Lusitania and the Titanic
rolled into one
Gone
Admittedly it ranks a little lower
than the mystery of the Marie Celeste.
missing Malaysia Flight A 370
or the disappearance of the Beaumont children
at our local beach on Australia Day
half a century ago
But I still want to know
what happened
to my snazzy blue, gold trimmed vest
I got for Xmas and took off for a shave
on Boxing Day
I only took it off for a minute
so I wouldn’t get it grubby.
Where did it go?
My parents partied to Mario Lanza.
His records littered the credenza
before ending up on the turntable.
[ it was the era of Clark Gable].
and everyone would their glasses clink
when Mario sang ‘Drink Drink Drink’
He had a big voice and big loves,
and the habits of a tiger cub,
‘impossible’, it was said, to housebreak.
He died too young at thirty eight.
Way way back in ’59.
Then along came Elvis. He was mine !
Bev put on a Golden Oldies disc
when Hippy Hippy Shake
jumped out of the player.
Chad Romero, I said.
Who?
Chad Romero, the singer. How good is my memory?
When she went into the shower, I sneaked a look at the CD cover
to make sure I’d got it right.
Huh? Swinging Blue Jeans, it said.
That’s funny, I thought, I’m sure it was Chad Romero.
So I Googled the name.
My heart sank.
‘Chad went home to be with the Lord,’ the Obituary began, ‘on April 23rd, 2017.’
Bullshit, I said. Chad was a hell-raiser. He wouldn’t have gone meekly as that.
There was no mention of his singing career.
So I Googled ‘Hippy Hippy Shake’ and there he was : CHAN ROMERO.Singer, composer, lyricist.
The full package.
And he’s still alive. Still rocking.
Sometimes one little letter can make a HUGE difference.
You’re taking over, she says.
Am I? I say. I didn’t know that.
You men are all the same, she says.
I go away and think about it.
Can one take over without even realizing it?
Did Alexander the Great conquer all those kingdoms without
even being aware of it?
Did Genghis Khan?
Did these warrior leaders perform their actions with sleight-of-hand
fooling even themselves?
Take over? Who? Me?
I talk to my therapist who is mightily amused at the very notion.
She said what? Who? You?
I take a good look in the mirror as I pass by.
Ummm. My tentacles do seem to have grown longer.
pic by pinterest. Andrei-Pervukhin on DeviantArt
Back and forth the fly darts across the windscreen
like black thoughts inside my head, floaters before my eyes,
distracting my driving, driving me up the wall.
You won’t get out? Okay, I’ll fix you, I say
as I pull in the driveway, wind the windows up
and pump in the fly spray, the little Nazi inside me
quite pleased with itself.
*pic courtesy of pinterest
Do you think I should bring him in?
Who?
Lord Nelson.
Lord Nelson of the Admiralty? Yes, especially if he’s pacing up and down the driveway, as though it’s the quarterdeck of the HMS Victory. People will think he’s bonkers. He’ll be wanting an eye-patch next.
*pic courtesy of pinterest
like the poem
the dreamy bus driver wrote
in ‘Paterson’
while idling at stop lights
or picking up passengers
the one about Ohio Blue Tip matches
in their sturdy little boxes
‘so sober and furious, ready to burst into flame’
as crafted as those of his hero
William Carlos Williams
the doctor who lived a few streets down
who wrote that famous poem
the red wheelbarrow glazed with rain
And me realizing you can write poems
about almost anything
even a red pencil sharpener
a bowl of berries with a barrowful of dreams
and finding out
that’s where Lou Costello came from too
Paterson, New Jersey.
There’s even a park named after him,
Lou Costello the chubby comedian who played alongside Bud Abbot,
the straight guy.
I used to watch those guys in the fun-house
Of the fifties,
frolicking with Frankenstein and The Wolf man.
But it was Lou Costello
I loved
The funny little fat guy
And that’s where he came from,
Paterson, New Jersey.
There was a saying in my parents’ day
not to upset the apple cart.
My uncle was a market gardener so it had extra meaning for us.
For a while things went smoothly
then I came along, then my sister.
We were the world’s first teenagers.
There was sex, booze — no drugs — and rock ‘n’ roll.
Mum and dad didn’t know what hit them.
And this went on all over the world.
A whole lot of apple carts were being upset, overturned.
Then came Feminism, Vietnam War protests, R rated movies
and in our country
the sacking of a government.
Boats were rocked, apple carts overturned.
It’s a bit like that now. Only there’s far more involved.
The fate of our planet.
I think before we get to wherever we’re going there won’t be too many
apple carts left standing.
*pic courtesy of Pinterest
John Malone 