Hol - 2

V

AT THE BOULANGERIE

 

Do you know what happened at the Boulangerie?

  

Why, no ?

 

Oh. Well then it’s no concern of yours.

How can you say that, when I do not hear, and I cannot see…what ?

Pity really, what transpired…

What Transpired?

Why, the big ka-boom at the boulangerie…

Someone bombed the boulangerie?

Not exactly… not precisely…

How can that be?

It’s a function of who you talk to, and who is listening. Not to mention, who is missing…

I see.

Do you?

It’s as plain as the pain on your face. You’re a mess. Do you need this stress in your life?

You know, in baking terms, “need” and “Knead”  sound the same to the Ear, but the eyes see a difference.

Not always.

Meaning…?

A child in need is being mentally - kneaded by a baker, who’s a faker, and he foretook her, all along.

So this child set a bomb…?

What’s a few extra ingredients in the bread base?

Ah!

 Yes.

…but…seems a pity.

She was dough in his hands,

And strong hands they were…

‘Til they went ka-boom.

V

LUCKY KING

 

How drunk are you?

I didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“Why?”  -  I asked. Lost in my own reverie, Tits are bouncing down the hallway…and I ain’t breakin’ no one’s pussy yet.  -  “Wha…?”

“Do you feel like visiting ‘the KIng'...?

(The King would be “Lucky King” of LUCKY KING LIQUERS – a Local Celebrity. )

I…I think, I better not.

Damn it. What good are you? -  she countered.

None apparently.  - he volleyed.

Yeah, apparently.

You want I should go, I’ll go.

Don’t go.

I’ll go.

DON’T GO!

Too late, I’m gone. Want anything else while I’m out?

Don’t be out-and-about. Hit the store and come straight home.

I’m fine…

Ice cream. Carmel Nut.

Second choice if they don’t have it.

Vanilla’s fine, but come straight home. I’ll worry about you.

Uh-huh.

…so do’ ya or don’tcha?”

What?

Love me?

Uh-huh.

That’s what I thought. Take the dog with you…in case.

What’s he going to do, CPR?

He needs his air…

On second thought….

Would you just GO already.

That was the last she saw of them.

V

POTS

                          

                                    V

RESTLESS

 

Restless

Aimless

Tasteless

Blameless

She spat him out.

Cokeless

Clueless

She confided

…and concluded

She confessed

To bringing this mess

 to being deluded

Casting­ him

As the villain

But knowing full well

The devil within

and the depth

of it's call

Tired of him already

Where would the road lead next?

And with who?

Any fool

who gives a toot.

Ditch the body

Best move on.

Nothing changes,

with the dawn.

 V

JUDGEMENT

 

There are places in life...

in my life anyhow...

feels like holes.

I wonder what happened there.

I know I abused,

that's pretty clear,

but an abuse so savage

as to lose track of the light?

And there were women I have forgotten

as hard as I can,

still come back to haunt a man.

Sometimes you pray for

Amnesia,

but it don't come easy. 

Oh the Lord he listens

But what he usually says, is -

"What do you want me to do about it now?  I can't make it right. What you think you did wrong, is up to you. I don't sit in judgment."

But I thought that WAS his job: Judgment. 

What the hell is Judgment Day in that case? Just another make believe holiday? 

He just doesn't care! There IS no Judgment Day! You just die and go away. 

Oh there's some minor administration  but filing clerks do that. They rubber-stamp "Deceased" on a bunch of documents, and fax them off to heaven.

Now, that's not exactly what He told me, but I’ll be damned if He didn't deny it either.

V

JACK FROM WAY BACK

 

Harriet knew Jack from way back. She’d baked him a pie, as she recollected. (It was either a pie, or banana bread…some baked good. It’s not important.) The fact is their relationship started when she volunteered for the prison bake sale (a novel idea proclaimed by the, then warden, but not anymore, since the riot). Jack had earned the privilege on the basis of ‘good time served’, and was very helpful in setting up the tables and chairs. She was shy, averting her eyes, she thought him too painfully good looking to consider her seriously, but she had to admit she did enjoy the brief episode of teasing between them. It had something to do with the size of the table, and his insinuation that her ‘assortment’ could do with a TV tray, given the meager offering. It was her first bake sale, she was only thirteen, she was trying so hard, and it endeared her to him...in a big-brother way, not ‘the other’ way.

Eight years went by, but don’t ask where. Harriet graduated high school, went to the junior college, and took a job at Hastings Bank, while Jack served his time and returned to his town. 

He worked first as a laborer, but showed enough gumption that the foreman took notice and upped his position to ‘detail supervisor’, which meant that he was in charge of all prisoners on work furlough. At first he met with some resistance, but the crew grew to tolerate, if not fully respect him, and they managed a bond of sorts. But it started to unravel with the inclusion of Derek Haskell. Haskell was trouble, and Jack sensed it immediately. He tried to counsel him, to steer him right, but Haskell was a stubborn and conniving  soul, with a gift for gab, and eventually he managed to generate some attention from Jack, and not in a good way. 

On the day the bank was robbed, Haskell was safe in his cell, but Jack, acting as his accomplice on the outside, was jittery and reluctant as he approached the window. He extracted the note from his pea coat and slid it across the counter to the cashier.

“Jack?” she said.

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