TRUNKS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 V

DORAH

 

 

There she was. Wrapped within a large, ungraceful, brown shape, the coat it gave that illusion. A large brown bear encasing her in his grasp. Hunched with burden, her face wore the heavy veil of gloom, not to mention the weight of the bear. Her gloom killed the mood of that side of the room.

She loomed over a mug of tea. No china princess was she. Always the same, a mug, no menu. A weekly routine:

Lunch - Tea and turkey club in the booth in the back.

One night a week, as it was with her lunch, she would come in for dinner. Always at six o’clock and the same booth, and always the same thing:

Dinner - the Stroganoff, toast and the tea.

Her hair is brown, undramatic, worn straight and cut blunt at about the shoulder line. Her eyes, dark, brown but maybe black, and always downcast in the shadows. She will don reading glasses on occasion but knows the menu and doesn’t seem one to mix books with food. Too messy, too much respect for the book, one too many spills perhaps, perhaps to a favorite, at that. Instead the occasional magazine or newspaper, the local arts and underground throw away from the wire stand near the café entrance. Could be she was either avant garde or just a pragmatist? Maybe something caught her eye or she was just bored. And boring…but by choice. It would appear that she, trying to fit in, fit behind, slipped under - it appeared she was trying to diss-appear.

I speculate she is a seamstress, or a grade school teacher, or a writer. Wonder what depressing prose she must muster? She made me melancholy, just watching, with a tinge of pain. Like she should be seated at the window of some dim diner, with a backdrop of the rain. The room seemed to grow quiet, then the place was emptying out, but we lingered. And if a jukebox was playing, I didn't notice

 

 

 V

 

Larry's Ghost

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

V

every time

How in the...

   How in the...

      How in the...

                            HELL!!!!!

...do I go on?

It's just a skip to oblivion

and I can smell the cooking

from here

dinners waiting

and I'm starving

sure to never

have a another square

can you spare me

throw me a dime

can you please ???

        - Don't have time

                kitchens closing

And I don't got mine?

        …...kitchen's closed

 

oh man...!

                  ...........kitchen's still closed

Well, if it's closed, then why the line?

 

           It's the VIP's, brother ...every-time.

V

No Allure

I gotta get out from under this roof,

cloaked in it's dank claustrophobia

alone in this morbid cloister,

it's corners constrain me

it's orchestral

creaks and moans

speaks to me

chastises me

for being a static statistic

stuck in his 

crumbling zone

I wandered away from the fight, 

relieved to render my shield

as the tidal wave was breaking

and no relief in sight

 

I got to get out of town

don't know if I can afford it

but what's keeping me here?

...certainly no allure

         ( if “allure” could only begin to describe it)

 

….musty, dusty, old hut.

A Jungle fills the wild yard

save for the barren spots

which are the turd lots 

for neighborhood mutts

but what happened here?

Is life got too hard,

you know...

it just got too hard.

Something calls me

out of my zone

is 'someone' with me

or am I all alone?

Is there a tomorrow

or an end?

 

Who the hell knows.

­

 

 

V

Seasonal

Off-springs

from fertile streams

be dammed

in Spring

when blossoms bloom,

and bestow

such a glorious

tight hold

less they are foraged,

plowed under

forgotten,

down trodden

and rotten.

­

all the worse in Autumn

when one realizes ­

that things, indeed,

do FALL.

Winds whipped

rustling fading gold,

soon rattling brown.

Some already gone barren,

now on the ground 

while others cling

to the last of the fears

letting loose of the branch

losing their dresses

their flourish, 

their grace.

A futile fight.

Now nearly nude 

while waiting

winter's blast,

their black bones

entangled

silhouetted

starkly dark

and naked

stuck in a globe

in a snowwhite

infinity

just waiting

for a shake

that's soon to come

 

 

 V

 

 

 

Work With Me

 I write this

as I have recently

done away with myself –

certain death by suicide,

utilizing a pharmaceutical I can't divulge

less some well-meaning citizen

attempts to save me

from the inevitable.

I will not be resuscitated,

as you may realize

my desire 

to terminate my existence

while waiting in the hallways 

of the Coroner's Office

should confirm.

I've taken my number,

which may not be misconstrued.

Simply hand this very letter 

to the proper authorities

so they may expedite 

my disposal.

There is no reason stated

and an explanation will not be forthcoming,

so do not spend inordinate time

pursuing a rationale.

Quick and efficient,

put me in the ground

or subject me to flame.

It makes no difference.

It's all the same. 

Let me assure you,

­I will not complain. 

 

 

 V