Aquamarine with Everything
'Twasn't[1]
the way per se the motel room door opened with a swish as the rubber runner
bottommost brushed the uppermost green of the shag rug; rather 'twas[2]
the rug's shag as it greenly brushed up against the rubber runner of the motel
room door through which she entered wearily and quiet as though the score of
the machine of the pin-ball of her life had been silently reset from the back
where went only and often exclusively the efficient technicians and the precise
artisans.[3]
I tossed
aside the motel's comp copy of TV Guide and said: "Come in and settle
down. We're going to be here for a while."
She sat
in the yellow chair belonging to the room. She said: "I've lost track of
the plot. Am I good? Am I bad? Are you good? Are you bad?"[4]
I nodded
meaninglessly. "All I know is you're in my care. You're one hot potato,
coal, and firecracker all rolled into one."
"Maybe
I need some dousing."
"Now
you're talking."[5]
*
On the
phonograph at the top of the stairs I was blasting Beethoven's Quartet Op. 130,
second side. My incipient sister-in-law came up to tell me that it was too
loud.
"But
it's Beethoven."
"But
it's a racket."
I dialed
it down; I'd gotten her attention.
"Come
into my room. There's something I've got to show you."
She
shrugged and followed.
She sat
beside me on my bed. Our sides were touching. I hold out the cover of the LP
for her to see. "It's from 1826."
She
said: "Doesn't look that
old."
Suddenly,
everything got darker. I no longer wanted her. Rather, I could tell she wanted me instead.
I said:
"That's all. I just wanted to show you the record."
She put
her hand on my shoulder. I resisted the urge to flinch. I was cool. I was
inside my head and that was all.
She
said: "If you could only make up your mind about it."
"My
mind is always made up," I replied.
She
pulled her hand away and stood up. She walked out of the room. She knew where I
was looking.
She took
the needle off the record at the top of the stairs.
*
The
evergreen was packed to bursting with stuff, from peak to foot. Still there was
no snow outside and it was still warm. Regardless, we were playing at winter
and at Xmas. I was wearing fuzzy slippers for use on only that morn. It was all
very calm, though there was a sinister feeling in the air. It was time for my
gifts to be unwrapped. I hadn't hidden them well those last two weeks. The
three gifts were nothing if not obvious. The first one unwrapped: a shovel! The
second one unwrapped: a garden rake! And the third: another shovel! We didn't
know what to say, really. There must have been a gag hidden somewhere to go
along with the shovels and the rake. We waited for the gag which didn't come
until we got tired of waiting. The tree and its ornaments got admired for a bit
more. Then it was time to take off the slippers and put on my shoes and a light
jacket. I took up the shovels and the rake. Where are you off to? Into the back
yard. There are a couple shallow graves I got to dig while the ground's not
frozen.
*
Same Old Song
You
got your television with its slightly-curved screen
And
you can watch on it pretty much every little thing
With
your slipper hanging off your elevated foot
And
a cup of cocoa with three marshmallows to boot
But
watch out for that
Sphere
(Y'know the one I mean)
You
can go outside where it's a nice summer day
And
trip down to the park to watch the little kids play
Or
just lie on the lawn watching clouds going by
And
dream of what you might do if only you tried
But
watch out for that
Fast-flying
Sphere
(It's
not a conspiracy)
And
if you're looking for drugs you come to the right man
You
can ingest like a ton as fast as you can
Then
sleep it all off on your Sweden-made bed
Or
your slightly-curved screen can comfort you instead
Yet
watch out for that
Fast-flying
Chromium-plated
Sphere
(Time
for a fiddle solo)
Join
a blues band and plays bars on Sunday afternoons
It's
all emotional since it's mostly the same tune
Or
improve your baking in small discrete increments
By
choosing a baking soda that
Oh
Wait
It's
that
Fast-flying
Chromium-plated
Five-pound
Sphere
(Boy)
*
He
stumbled around his workshop, muttering: "I have to have a system, there
has to be a system, there's a system in here somewhere, I had a system once,
and I know it's in here somewhere." He moved objects here and there. He
even toed a bookcase from a wall. He appeared to not be finding the system.
He wife
knocked on the door of his workshop. "Are you still looking for your
system?" She stood there, awaiting some kind of response. She said:
"Are you absolutely certain you had it in there? that you didn't take it
some other place?"
From
inside he said: "I've re-traced my steps carefully, and I must have left
it in here. Last night. Not so long ago at all."
"Not
long ago at all," repeated his wife. "Are you hungry? Do you want a
snack? Do you want to take a break and think it all over again?"
"No;
I think I'm on the right track. Hello, what's this?" She heard him pulling
some cardboard boxes around. "I think I found it."
"Oh,
that's great. You there?" She opened the door to an empty room. She sighed
happily. He'd found his system again.
*
O Mannahatta!
1
Blue
bird dropped me from its womb in the sky
Home
again to a home that isn't what is seems
For
you are still in Long Island, land long lost,
Tending
your sister's capybara farm while she's
Getting
her batteries re-charged at that Lenox
Ashram.
Now I'm awake, and it's next day's morning
And
our bed is covered with the blood I lost through
My
anus overnight. I miss you so badly, Katryna!
These
letters are for you! I think I'm now
Going
to the bodega to buy some bacon and eggs.
This
won't take very long.
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