The Royos

 

 

 

 

 

Rose met the Castanettas at the Belmont. Fresh from a day at the track, in the cool retreat of the hotel bar, under a dark corner ceiling fan, they struck up a chat about a song - Abscent Heart??? ...or some such. The group that sang it, no one knew. Sad, they all agreed.
Lucy was the talker, a regular little chatterbox whereas Ben was cordial but minded his beer. Let the girls talk. He was a quiet and patient man.
All in from out of town, they from Chappaquiddick and she from St Lou' .
The bartender, Roger, white shirt sleeves rolled high, and dark suspenders, hovered patiently and wiped the bar when he was not serving.

Business was midday slow so he welcomed their company and piped in often. A colorful character, he peppered the conversation with big city tales, mostly off-color but nobody seemed to mind, in fact they came to encourage something risque.

They had a hoot.

They had a toot.

They had a rooty-toot-toot

It was just too, too, tumultuous,

rapidly spiraling downward

cascading into rage

senseless damage

senseless pain,

came -

              “Abstract Heart”......... by The Royos

 

We got Ben to blame.

 

 

 

V

 

 

 

Less Mess

There is no form so

Don't preach me no formula

THEY do not believe in that bullshit

THEY just want to be heard

They don't voice a comma

or know a compound

They could care...

so just carry on, they tell me

when it's all I can do to keep up

They prefer to work the night shift

No sense of time on that side

Tap me on the shoulder

say wake up, you're late

sally forth soldier

stay awake, stay alive

'Where the bloody hell

you been, mate?'

Yack, yack....the voices snap

they all want to be heard

Let me speak

Just keep up

You don't need the sleep

Stay awake ! Stay Awake!

Tap...tap...Tap away!

Come on!

Are you getting this?

Or is it slipping away?

Ha, ha! That's what I thought!

...who found this moron?

What's your Word count?

Absurd amounts

Absurdity mounts

The chorus Doesn't care

Not a scintilla

New words

fill the page

Screw words

need words

would love to know

a more mellow flow

but, no...

they simply

spew few words

Type, you bastard, type

Voices loom

in the dark corners of the room

Keep up

Don't drift off

You can make up for it tomorrow

....But I can't, not really

It's a BS conspiracy

A poor joke played on me

They know what aspiration

they demand inspiration

What Inspired lunacy means to me

when lunacy requires no justification

I do not prattle on, THEY do!

I just write what they tell me to

And if you don't like it

they say...

You know what to do

With your forms

your norms

your formulas -

“FUCK YOU!”

that's what they say

That's them talking

Not me

 

So go ahead

fire away

let the last voice speak

if you've anything

left to say

 

We're quick

to kill messengers

in case they get in the way

and it's decidedly

less messy,

a lot less messy,

that way.

V

ENRAPT

Evelyn withdrew,

deciding instead

to stew in private

over that

dreadful dress

It was raucous 

It was cheap 

It was crude

decidedly beneath her

but oh it did please her

still hoping it would release her

she raced outside

through the balcony doors

heels clack on clay tiles

she ran in dread

lit a smoke 

in the match flair

her eyes blazed

as it inhabited

her head

her paced quicken

anxiously back and forth, 

back and forth

then she broke for the room

to the closet 

that held it entombed

buried there from sight

but beckoning 

by shuttered light

destroying any barriers

it's tantalizing seduction

...it's sensuality 

she dared no don it 

but she did

when en-wrapped 

and enraptured

arose a new 

and wanton warrior

a complete and vicious animal

it became her

and she became it

and they would cause

some harm tonight.

V

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