soon to be wed

 

Not that it’s still a story.

It’s not.

Nothing to be told

that isn’t old

and yet still told 

tenfold.

 

So, here goes: 

 

Dude became a brute

who immediately embraced 

her abuse.

From their wedding night on,

her life was a sliding scale

of beatings.

 

His “gentle touch”

proof in the burn marks,

born of boredom.

Tattoos disguised bruises.

Trips and falls

Were her fault

Until she slid off the scale,

in overload.

Three years on the chain,

now ‘broken’

Nothing left to give,

she gave up.

And as much as you think 

the mother was wronged,

save your pity, 

and your prayers,

 for the daughter

she left him

behind. 

 

 

V

The Stillness

  

 

 

 

The stillness made him uneasy. The claustrophobic quiet enveloped him. It hugged him in its tight grasp like an eight-hundred-pound ape. His breath was labored, his legs weak. There was the panic drawn from the fact that he was so remote…so crushingly alone. His ‘compass’  wound up and started to spin freely , picking up a momentum in his cranium. He was lost with no sense of direction. His next breath could be his last. Briefly, at first he caught glimpses of a cartoon classic playing in his head  - an old alarm clock exploding and parts flying everywhere. But it got so it repeated repeatedly to a maddening proportion, until he mercifully, or purposely, passed out.

Coming to, he found the reboot did him some good. He had survived the fall from grace, and the upgrade went smoothly. His memory of the crash, eradicated.

 

 

V

 

The dawning

 

 

 

 

 

It didn’t dawn on Megan

to look both ways.

She was careless…

her fears abandoned

free at last

until the moment

she wasn’t ever

and much 

too late

to 

reconsider.

 

 

V

 

 

 

what was to come...

 

 

It was as ‘still’ an evening as she had ever experienced. Hot? … yes, and oh, so, still…102  at 8:00, with clouds moving in and wind picking up, overnight thunderstorms are 50/50 but the humidity would appreciate a winner.

“Sparrow” (not her real name -and not my idea)… fanned herself while casually perched on the narrow balcony above the fray. 

“Crime” was very available, so foot-traffic was scarce.   No traffic no sales. We closed but we open.  She could hear the shop’s front bell from up here. She ‘could’, but knew she wouldn’t. Streets, as quiet as one could hope, but remain apprehensive. No never know on these streets. Someone could pounce out of the darker shadows, while a passing vehicle does a U-turn back around and fires with intent to inflict dire consequences.

So, she took to ‘the roof’ to take in the scene, for some quiet time and cool air, and what was to come.

V

Transcendent

 

Lamar, the sky belonged to him 

for as long as there was “The Spring”. …

An open field to roam. 

Just play toss, nice and easy. 

Before lightning strikes 

with the hack of a blistering bat!

He  had truly found his peace. 

His grass, his peace.

But you know the game, 

and before he goes lame, 

they may not shoot you, 

but your ticket's punched 

just the same.

 

 

V

 

UNKEPT

 

 

 

If I disclose any of my party of clowns they will drown me in a pool of ping pong balls.

Somewhere, lodged like a tumor in the back of my mind, was a baseball play-by-play Announcer, and a voice of his time. 

Someplace there was a ruckus, I don’t know where the pummeling came from, but I heard them throughout. And someone was getting pummeled.

 Apparently I clung to life, long enough to hang on. 

Not conscious of breathing…or conscious of reality, It was a ghostly mystery to me, phasing in and out, and with each nod, a new mystery.

The clowns visit me at night and pummel me with pool noodles. A thousand lashes…never more. As a result, I drift into a comma.

The nurses call it “nodding off”...

(Drug-induced…at eternity’s ledge…but we’ll call it  - “dozing” – for billing purposes).  

 But, I'm gonna call it "Noodling off."

 

OH LORD! 

“…if I should die before I wake I pray the Lord knows his mistake.”

 

 

V

In Her Proximity

 

 

Diane on the other hand had different ideas. She’d related stories of coming back. Not that anyone believed her, but it still gave them room to bounce the thought around and ruminate on what that might include. 

Just when they thought she was in Toledo, she’d show up 3 miles away, downtown in a bar, then be gone by morning before sunrise. So ‘the morning after’ does no one any good. Too late. She fled like fluid, ran with the current, and flowed downriver. 

The ache that comes with knowin’ her eventually leaves you numb from the sheer weight of her proximity. It passes, but not entirely, because it's always on "Pause".

 

V