Sunday, December 19, 2004

Poem: Invasion of the Killer Toothpicks

"Toothpick, Dick?"
"No thank you Sally."
At that time they were happy, unaware.
"Japanese toothpick?"
"Sally, I SAID NO TOOTHPICKS!"

the toothpicks were on their way home from the movies.
the toothpicks were french.
their extension was 3482.

these toothpicks didn't want to go to a bar.
they rather fancied the party at flat 23.

There wasn't much noise as they travelled,
I guess they slid noiselessly along.

They didn't knock either,
upon arrival at number 23,
they simply "entered."

the keyhole,
the letterbox,
the crack under the door.

"Hello, what's for fun around here?"
thats what the toothpicks said, all 109 of them.
they were songwriters and
day-care workers mostly.

"None of them limped,"
is what Dick told the cops.

"Toothpick forays are increasingly common in single-parent homes."
The cops quoted useless statistics
and massaged Sally's bum.

cops arrived to carnage at the scene.
olive martinis overturned,
cocktail weiners poked and burned.

it ruined their marriage when
tiny timber settled the score.
a chilling momento
scrawled in dip upon the door:
'Oui, oui, pas de fete ici.'
a message from the toothpicks
to the popsicle sticks.

Poem: Dirty Uncle's Day Out

DING, DONG-
it's Dirty Uncle, looking for the Birthday Boy.

Smoke and sin swoop through the door,
stinking of boozy mischief.
Joy at Uncle’s store-bought cake
and pack of pink party candles.

DRINKS to wash down our cakes?
The lock on the liquor cabinet breaks…
A smack on the back, a splash of gin,
the celebration is forced to begin.

Box of candles waiting sweetly cake-side.
Hello.
Happy Birthday Baby.

Uncle sets seven alight.
Dirty Uncle and candles in cahoots.
The candles suck up oxygen, while Unka Rogah
sucks down Tanqueray.

Fiery birth meets fiery breath.
Uncle wants to drink,
the waxlets wish to burn,
to flicker and lick life from the air.

Mom comes home, no fun. No fair.
She blows the fire from the dancing wicks,
steals the liquor from the old man’s lips.

The boy is left alone in the dark,
with smoke and sweet victory frosting.

Sprawled out on the neighbour’s lawn,
Dirty Uncle slurs through the birthday song.

The boy closes his eyes and wishes
for what he hopes will come true.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Necking with a martian

(Set to Sigur Ros’ STARALFUR)

Reclining in the red dirt, she pushes her full weightlessness against the amphibious martian, who, for some odd reason, is turning her on. The sexless martian (whom we will call D) is equally interested in the old lady (in a reproductive sort of way).

Crusty geysers dot the landscape surrounding the pair,
Hissing encouraging gas to fuel the passionate encounter.

Her hands seek out D’s upper body. The skin is cooler than her own, humid, possessing a sweet blossom musk. D’s sex glands are hard at work. Martian pheromones are superb.

D trails a webbed fin delicately along her wrinkled cheek, studying her bright eyes with their complex rings of color.

HISSSssss… goes the geyser gas.

The martian is pleased with the old woman, the way her head moves slowly near, the way her pink tentacles softly probe its scaled flesh. They make a handsome pair.

Nearly weightless, D clasps her shoulders--a martian kiss is coming. Her pulse quickens, she wets her lips in anticipation, and moves closer.

The creatures collide in an awkward embrace. D presses flat martian eyes into the woman’s sunken eye sockets (Martians kiss with their eyes). Woman encircles martian’s mini mouth hole with a gentle peck. D wonders if the woman is hungry? Woman wonders if this fine Martian is not as interested as she thought.

Rumbles of rocks and dusty clouds pass over head.
HIIISSSsssss….

The couple quietly moves in for a second embrace, a flurry of amphibio-terrestrial lust manifests into a gooey, dusty, weightless dance.
Martians love older women and older women adore moist tentacles.

Roasted in the Keys

Our story begins in the so called rustic section of the park. This is the part where monster RV’s are not allowed. There is no water, no sewage or electrical hookup. Removing any possibility of neon flamingo lights or cries of B I N G O! past 9pm.

‘My husband is just wild about fishin’.’
‘Keeps them busy.’
‘Until we came down last week, he never fished before in his life.’
‘You really believe they’re fishing out there?’
‘Of course. Benny brought home some fresh caught cod last night for supper.’
‘Honey, that cod came from the Piggly Wiggly. They drink so much beer while they sit in that boat, they couldn’t catch one of their own farts.’

It was dark in the rustic section. The tents here were reasonably small. The sleeping bags here magically filled up with beach sand. The campers cooked dinner on small RUSTIC grills. They stumbled out of their tents for a pee in the middle of the night with shoes on the wrong feet and pants on backwards.

‘We used to own a two-thousand square foot colonial,’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Sold it two years ago for this Airstream.’
‘No kidding.’
‘The kids was all grown up and we figured, we didn’t need the space no mo.’
‘All you need is a little space.’
‘We’ve been coming to the fishing lodge every winter since.’
‘Nice people here.’

The rustic campers cooked fresh fish and roasted vegetables on their grills. The raccoons and deer sniffed appreciatively from the bushes. The deer were dying for a taste as they had long ago forsaken their woodland diet in favor of leftover marshmallows, crackers and burnt BBQ feasts. They snuck in to snack while the campers were sleeping. No dumb deer here, they even knew enough to wait until the grill cooled before attempting to chew off the spoils. Though the lesson was hard earned--nearly all deer ended their maiden forage with superbly blistered lips. Wildlife watchers wondered why all deer on Big Pine Key had such particular pouts?

One particular camping couple was preparing their feast. They hung their gas lamp in a tree to illuminate the kingfish steaming in packets of aluminum foil on the grill. There was corn on the cob, red peppers and onions roasting. A young deer watched from the bushes, drooling onto his hoof in anticipation of leftovers to come.

Just before dinner was served, the couple rolled up a joint. Dinner was always tastier. The stars were brighter--all desired effects. The surprising other side effct was that campsite became weirder. Or had all the insanity been going on before and they just never noticed?

‘If you drive two islands up to Marathon, the coffee is only a dollar ninety-nine a pound.’
‘Marathon?’
’Bout fifteen minutes from here.’
'I wish I knew that yesterday.’
‘Costs a couple dollars in gasoline, that’s why you gotta buy lots of coffee.’
‘We don’t drink an awful lot of coffee, the wife has a bad valve…’
‘Doesn’t matter. You drive further so you don’t get fleeced on the coffee. Remember to stock up while you’re there. They say there’s a war in Colombia…’