Monthly Archives: December 2017

Petulant pride
assures me
I am not superstitious.
Don’t go for any of that
mumbo jumbo.
Open the umbrella
before I go outdoors,
wife all the while tisking.
Pick up black cats,
scratch their chins.
Walk under ladders.
What do I care?
Broke a mirror, not on purpose.
Seven years bad luck?
I proved it wrong.
Maybe the seven year itch, though.
Yes, seven’s about right,
and I sure have the itch,
and that could be bad luck.
Ahhh….makes me ponder.
No…only a fool could be so gullible.
Wake up, fool, you’re in charge, aren’t you?
Put your confident smirk back on.
And so, I go about believing
the helmsman’s in control.  But.
There’s a little niggling thing
that pick pick picks away
at the mica-like layers of my built up shell.
As if it had a fetish for peeling off scabs.
Am I not like the Gollum-Sméagol in one mind?
Under the scabs, the former finds fresh evidence
of some of my cultivated peculiarities.
How I have an aversion to making plans
for some future date,
because it’s bad luck.
This is a thing I cannot shake,
a quality of a social pariah.
How, when at a party,
I choose the strategic position
in the corner, closest to the exit.
How, when out and about, I always
keep the gas tank filled, every day or two.
You never know when you’ll have to go
to the hospital in the middle of the night,
or drive two hundred miles to
save someone from themselves.
I was taught to always have on clean underwear,
and to make sure it isn’t on backwards.  Hospital again.
Once I dug a grave for my old black cat,
second-guessing the almighty.
Providentially, the cat received divine intervention.
Ran about like a five year old, climbed a tree,
found the hole I dug, and pissed in it.
Superstitions don’t always pan out,
but some are good to have.

I’ve three fat cats

Used to be four

The skinny one passed

I have turned them into kitty crackheads

(Too liberal with the treats)

Now I see the error of my ways

How they manipulate me!

Especially the the fattest one

Cunningly, I think “we’ll skip a night for the kibbles”

I go to bed, close the door, soon drop off to sleep

There’s a knock

Wearily, I uncover, open the door

To darkness, no one there

I mutter “you miserable little bastard thing”

Back to bed, turn off light..

Another knock, more forceful.

Up I jump, in a tither

This time, glowing eyes light the hallway

Annoying meows beckon towards the kitchen

I resignedly follow.

Fluffy tails circle my feet

Looking like periscopes

Or shark fins closing in on their quarry.

I dole out three piles.

The ringleader refuses to eat

Until I add a few more.

I now have to get a second job

To support their habit.

Perhaps the paranormal believers are onto something.  Do we all have auras?  It’s an easy explanation for a thing that’s puzzled me for a time.  To you, it may not be a puzzle at all, or maybe not something you would think on.  Most likely, just a projection or an assumption on my part.  Call it naïveté, superstition, overthinking, or all of those.

Ah, but it could be (and I do feel it this way) a moment of true clarity.

In even something as simple as a shopping excursion, I pass by hundreds (if not, thousands) of people, and casually make eye contact with many.  Those who leave an impression, for good or ill, are retained in my mind for a time.  I consider myself neither hostile, nor overly kind.  Some who I meet have a welcoming nature, and will return a casual smile.  I like the little scenes that people inadvertently create.  A mother struggling with two kids, one in a stroller, and a full shopping cart, trying to get through the checkout.  A very old woman with a different kind of struggle, peering into her purse for money, while her groceries are sitting on the belt unbagged.  The cashier may or may not show patience, and I see if their eyes are kind or absent.

It seems to depend on the day, or maybe it is truly my own outlook, but the dark side of things is at times more prevalent.  When I come upon a person and lift my eyes to theirs,  what’s returned could be a look of challenge or unreasoning anger.  Or, they may swiftly look away, as if not wanting to be probed, perhaps because they’ve seen something within my own eyes that has disturbed them.  Lastly, they may seem to be shuttered, unreadable, aloof, with the aspect and the Zen of a fleeting animal.

The mother could be whacking the kid’s behind, or the father could be yelling at them.
The Yin and the Yang, but why the seismic shift from day to day?

There was a song, by the Payolas.  “The eyes of a Stranger”.
My friend once said to me, offhandedly, “You know, that’s you sometimes”.

Picture credit:  Deviant Art

A Balrog of Mordor
The sandworms of Dune
An H. G. Wells tripod
Dark side of the moon
(One at a time, please)
These things I would face
For the treasure I cherish
Your face, full of grace.

You were hired at the store where my wife works, and saw me bring her a cup of tea every day at lunch.  One day, you remarked, in front of others, Gee, I wish I had a boyfriend like that.  I just smiled, a little tongue-tied.  As the daily routine went on, I saw, or imagined, you sneaking a glance as I brought my clockwork cups, then looking away.  Later, they put you on as a cashier, and I sometimes wound up going through your line.  I didn’t attempt to start a conversation, other than saying Hi, but one day you said why are you looking at me that way?  I reddened a bit, and asked what you were talking about.  Nothing, never mind.  As I brought the tea each day, I began to get a little apprehensive, wondering what you would say next, and it wasn’t long before you were waving and saying things like Hi, Hubby, did you bring my tea? , so I started thinking up clever response lines, taking it lightly and enjoying the joking repartee.  After several of these exchanges,  I said “listen, what do you take in your coffee?  I’ll bring you one.” You looked embarrassed, as if I had called your bluff, but told me anyway.  Must have thought I was joking, because I let a week go by.  Then I brought one in and slipped it behind you at the cash desk, and kept walking.  When I left the store, I went by an alternate route, but you spotted me, held the cup aloft, and called out Hubby! You didn’t!
People looked.  I did this only the one time, because I thought it had embarrassed you, and I didn’t want to cause trouble.  Lots of snickers now, and amused glances, whenever I came in with the wife’s tea.  She knew that I had made a friend, and was a little uncomfortable about it,  but didn’t raise a fuss .  After all, anything more than clever clowning around would be most inappropriate, considering you are old enough to be my granddaughter.  But, a year later, actually last night, my wife and I were at a Christmas party that you happened to attend as well.  She nudged me and said “Your sweetie is here”.  I stood up, reddened again, and you gave me a big hug.  Hi, Hubby.

You, maybe with daddy issues.  Me, in a late-life crisis?  What could go wrong?

It’s cold and snowy this evening.  Hearing sirens, imagining ditched cars, I wipe my window and watch people out in the storm with their shovels and blowers.  I wonder why, thinking that if this keeps up, there will be another 6 inches by the morning.  Maybe they are hoping it will stop soon, or they are better weather watchers than am I.  Feeling very cozy, at least, I am glad to be safe and warm.

It’s going on two weeks since I’ve gone for my daily exercise walk, and more than that since I have picked up a musical instrument, two things that I’ve looked upon as helpful therapy.  Just low mood.  Medicated low mood.  Strangely enough, in yesterday’s doctor appointment, two of the first questions she asked me were “Are you still going for your walks?”  No.  “Have you played any music lately?”  No.  She is taking care of me very well, and is a by-the-book person, no bullshit.  If you don’t do what she tells you, there better be a reason.  She’ll listen, if it’s an honest one.

So, she was really the impetus for tonight’s sudden resolve to get out there and do it.  Put on the long johns, the parka, and the mitts.  Are you gonna take the long route, or the old man’s route?  With puffed up ego that I was able to get as far as my driveway, I said “Hell, it’s the long route, now that I’m out here”.  I finally reach the corner where I would normally turn off for the short walk, and say “Okay, you still have breath, you don’t have to pee, the mitts are warm, so let’s keep going.”  Two minutes more, and I slip on ice, feeling something a little out of place in my hip.  Walk slowly for a bit, seems okay.  Three quarters of the way now, I turn a corner, and there he is:  a large loose solitary dog, standing on the sidewalk, ears pricked, looking very muscular and alert.  I freeze, having been attacked last summer by a similar breed.  I have a tendency to be very Sméagol-Gollum like in dialogue with myself, and tonight, Gollum said “It has been put there as a warning, my precious.  You have gone too far and have thought yourself too great.  Turn around, foolish old man.”  Sméagol meekly acquiesced.

After I’m done with this, out comes the guitar.