HEATHEN HEARTH

It wasn’t a given, this hole in my chest, the empty cavity, the maw calls my name, but lands on ears, never-hearing, for fearing, I could care. The phonograph was playing an up-tempo tune, something on the order of a polka. The melody stuck with me as I started my spiral, headlong into oblivion, riding the crusty crest to cremation.

An out-stretched hand reached for me, if only for a moment, before it was rudely rescinded. What could I do? 

I vacated, at no one’s request, because the outcome was understood. 

I wandered the streets, wet and inhospitable...ducked into doorways, or hid under awnings, making my way, where?, I had no idea. The night and I were mutually declining, growing darker by the second, and the fog rolled in on us both. 

I staggered into the only light I saw, and found myself enveloped in red. Where was this place?…and the same tune played on the jukebox. There were six patrons and a bartender. I stood and stared for what seemed the longest time, until someone noticed, and suggests that I...sit my ass down.

I found a stool and did as I was told. I asked for four-fingers of something strong, but expected two...but then, the bartender...he, complied. 

I curled up around my drink and partook…

the heathen hearth,

this empty chest

doth burn,

through heartless vent,

this elixir earned

V

V

Woody Hue

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PISTOL

 

How many times do you have to read the Ad :

PISTOL

 Like New

Used Once

 

...until you understand it’s gravity?

Did it’s significance just dawn on you? Were you not aware, that, that one-time, was all it took?

A kill shot at extremely close range, all arranged by a stranger, whose blood may still be on the trigger.

But it intrigues you; USED ONCE. Who’s to know?

So you call the ‘lister and arrange a meet.

Man of three hundred pounds turns up, with the piece holstered. He eyes you with caution, as is his right…but you are equally dubious.

You do a little dance, to :  

WHAT YOU GOT?

WHAT YOU WANT?

Finally, he asks to examine the piece. It’s his right as the buyer. He took control of it in a casual, but clumsy, manner, which reeked of a ‘novice’ trying impress the pro.

But that’s all right, as long as it wasn’t pointed his way. Hell a gun like this is often handed down from novice to novice. Everyone likes to think it has only been used once.

As he waited, he watched the novice handling the piece, aiming at ghosts, and thought to himself

“I will not be surprised to see this gun again.”

It only takes one.

V

BRIEF INTERLUDE

 

They seized a moment in the stairway. Passing…

but, oh, so slowly.

Longing to utter their every desire into the ear of this ‘stranger’.

But caution prevails…as they were well within ear-shot of some heavy traffic.

The glint in the eye…the Tease of it all.

The quiet Promise of things to come, but not soon enough. 

The tip of a tongue, tasty, but brief.

The arch of a brow, obviously intrigued.

Ten seconds...no relief.

Too quick to believe

...yet, this interlude

is over.

V

MY MISCALCULATION

 

     Now is not the time. You shouldn’t be doing this.

Alright. If that’s what you want…but I thought you…

You thought wrong.

But your pants are off and your bra’s undone…

So?

Generally speaking, that signals a certain acquiescence, if not outright, fervent, participation.

It did, but it stopped…and I wouldn’t say it was ‘fervent’.

I sensed ‘fervent’…but you, stopped?

It’s my right to say “No’.

It is indeed. No question, none whatsoever. But…

No ‘buts’.

It’s just that I’ve reached a certain ‘state’…

What ‘state’ is that?

Well, let’s put this way; you either talk me in off the ledge, or you provide a ‘push’.

What ‘ledge’?

I’m stuck on this precipice.

Better get yourself down.

“Get myself down”? I don’t know you well enough to perform ‘the descent’, but if you could lend me a hand…

My hands won’t be sullied.

Oral will suffice…

Not on your life.

Even if my life is in “Limbo”?

I will not ‘have a hand’ in whatever decision you make. And I will NOT be your “Limbo Bimbo”. Hahahahah!

He did not laugh. The joke just sat there, like a broken wheel…flat off the rim

No love was lost…

         … ‘no love’ was ventured.

My miscalculation.

V

        

Chandelier Sunset 2

V

PEACOCK DIES

 

The lawn needed cutting, he knew that much. But the power mower hasn’t worked since ’97 ( but, good enough to keep on-board, in case of crisis). 

The push mower is older, much older, and I’m soaking it in oil, as we speak, because I can’t urge a squeak out of it’s old tired rustiness. The blades just froze tight, so it’ll be awhile...

Meantime, the lawn will have to wait for it’s fate with the mower. But the lawn don’t stand still for that. It just yawned, and, pushed on. The Lawn “pushes on”, ‘til you tend it, or it dies.  Whichever comes first…

I lucked-out on the drought, though.

Not that I was wishin’ it on the state, or the economy, or the habitats, for that matter. But for my particular purposes, it was perfect. A perfect patch of brown…

The lawn wanted to be some foamy loam, fertile, rich, green… greener than a peacock’s feather. But what one wants is not part of the equation. If there were an equation…the peacock would die.

And that’s where the water district comes in. The district controls the equation on your water usage and can shut you off, just like that. So don’t go planning on some sod, cause you'll get caught, and it will be a sad day.

 

Needless to say that’s just theory and a lack of hydration is a fact. Under these conditions, what else can one do, but pray for rain?

V