This Super Bowl Sunday Marcy
Forgot To Get Doritos
the road runs above the quilt of fields
and cool whisps of fog are the batting
of this Super Bowl Sunday from dawn to dusk;
from lehigh to dresden is but a hen's race
and we'll be at the convenience store soon
to get doritos marcy fergot to buy -
she's only twelve years old - and some beer and smokes.
we wish the damned fog would lift, and the weather
would get warm; it hasn't been warm since oooh-8
and 'lectric bill run way too high
and consumer's cooperative power is mighty happy,
making money like the bank of han'over fist;
we can't make out the lights at brewster's store yet,
damn photon-pinchin' miser!
oh, the store is warm, is warm, and ole brewster's too!
and we're buzzed in the aisles of delights
and delicacies, see a packet full
of smoked oysters- imagine- smoking oysters!
like we'd eat in New York City - if we ever wanted.
and caviar at thirty bucks a snifter full;
no bigger than my chewin' tobacco tin!
great panoply of groceterÃas
whither flow the aquaducts of beer-belly:
jim crow an' old grand dad an' famous grouse,
and it doesn't ever cost much more than that!
we spaced out and didnot want to leave.
brewster got a funny look, and asked if we're ok?
the colors of the jujubes boxes were like eyes of newt!
brewster said, it's best time you'd be goin' an' kin
ye drive yersel'? we had the munchies and feared
the constant weep of rain and dark of clouds.
we looked for brother bill to come running across the
far fields, newly resurrected, his chest hot and
steaming with life, but no one came across them
fields no more...spittin' with life's full fury!
the roads piss out a marijuana fog from lungs
empty of all except the cancer,
and candles light the empty houses' windows like elmo's
fire, gleaming points of golden coins upon the eyes;
there be broke down tractors rustin' in the fields,
where willows rattle and rasp like hands o' glory... drove
back home for the superbowl- damn, fergot the doritos!
notes:
groceterias: grocery stores
bank of han'over fist: a bank making money hand over fist
a hen's race: not very far
jim crow and old grandad: cheap whiskies; the first is actually 'old crow'
famous grouse: moderately priced scotch
hand o' glory: hand of glory from the dark arts
4 comments:
Terrific, dancing, musical words. The voice here is wonderful.
Thank you, Ruth.
As I write, it is dark here, but that's because of the Daylight Savings.
Daylight Savings isn't much help to people who get up before the chickens even dream of stirring.
Daylight Savings is silly. And you can tell your daughter that for me. :)
I love my dark morning time.
I am sorry to be driving you crazy with my updates.
I try to keep to the weekly schedule, so I end up doing a lot of editing while the poem is already online.
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