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Partners in the Losers Hall of Fame
Partners,
we were for a time
attached to the same tether –
not quite like Picasso and Braque
more like Martin & Lewis --
or descending even further
into the treasure trove
of great allegiances --
the leather-loving Sigfried & Roy.
The alloy of our attachment
not sexual or artistic
but simply practical
combined with a mutual need
to allay a total descent
into madness, poverty and a desire
to let loose of the rope
of life completely.
Such was our fate together.
And I must say, we made
the best of it – much like
Laurel & Hardy --
loving yet antagonistic
and resisting homosexual allusions
yet, not even so successful
as a team as Abbott & Costello
nor as graceful as Adele
& Fred Astaire.
Our ascent up the Stairway to Paradise
blocked by a persistent
attachment to failure and the
enjoyment of the low life
pleasures associated with
drink, drugs and casual sex
with whomever happened to
be walking our way that day.
Our lives hexed by demons
passed on by parents --
their own unions incomplete --
their own hopes and wants
stunted.
And so you and I smoke
our blunts and drink
stiff alcohol
in the hope that our innards
will land forever intermingled
and pickled in formaldehyde
to reside to the end of time
in the Loser’s Hall of Fame.
FD. 5.9.08 -- inspired partly by reading the biography of Tennessee Williams
The Muse
I have observed with great
care,
your various get-ups and guises.
I have watched with some
amusement,
the myriad variations upon your
hair –
first, raven black, then brown,
then red –
now long, now short, then
in between.
Your jeans always tight,
but in various lengths
from long to Capri to short -
low slung or riding high.
I have even had the bright
pleasure
of seeing you hiding
in an elegant dress or two -
an enchanting design – the dress -
and one that most becomes you.
I have been a willing
listener
to your constant blather
about this or that fad diet –
your determination to quit smoking -
your on and off the wagon
declarations of a new sobriety.
Yet, you remain the soubrette -
the frivolous coquette -
the perpetual ingénue
and I am more charmed
than alarmed
by your continual experimentation
with your outward appearance
grandly coupled with your deepening
awareness
of the glorious creature within.
It would be a sin
not to care for you
but just a little.
The trick of course
is not to fall in love
for that might provide
occasion for remorse -
you being more a source of inspiration than any
palpable thing.
Still, I am tempted to
have a fling –
if only out of some great
curiosity to come in close
contact with that
special kind of madness
that I know I could
only experience with you.
FD. 2.29.08
The Cad
He sat at the bar sipping
a Miller Lite out of a brown bottle
eating a sliced avocado
drenched in olive oil on a bone china plate.
He looked quite elegant
in a sharp slate gray shark skin suit,
crisp white shirt
and gray silk tie with subtly placed
roses to add a bit of color to the scheme.
He seemed all of a piece
and quite at ease
in the middle of a sunny, brisk
spring afternoon.
Few could have guessed that
he had no real occupation
and that he lived a sycophantic
kind of leech-like existence
living off the wealth of ladies
who had far too much leisure time
and husbands who were far too busy
making money to pay them much
attention or any real mind.
He had that air about him
that stirred both envy and contempt.
Just looking at him made one feel
slimy and unkempt
and yet somehow superior.
One needed to cast him
in an inferior role
because he threatened one’s
very tenuous grasp – one’s control --
over the very thin strands
that held a badly frayed life together.
What, after all, was I doing there
in the middle of a workday afternoon?
Why was I not at the office?
What was becoming of me?
This man sitting there --
so obviously enjoying himself
shook me to the very foundation
of my nouveau puritanical, politically correct
so-called liberal upright American belief
that there was something evil
about drinking a beer
and having a bit of fun
in the middle of the fucking afternoon
for God’s sake.
Was I losing my grip?
What would my wife say?
What would my children think?
What if I stumbled home at 10 PM
that evening stinking of beer
and cigarettes and the foul scent
of some sleazy trollop
that I had picked up and fucked
in some slimy motel
just before slinking home like some criminal?
These thoughts crossed my mind
just as the man in the gray suit
took his last bite of avocado --
his last sip of beer
and walked out of the bar
looking quite happy and content.
I ordered a double Martini,
lit up a Camel cigarette
and winked at the barmaid.
We knew what he was up to –
we knew where he was going --
the cad.
FD. 4.16.08
The Most Deserving of All
Above all
inspiration is required --
that daily desire
to place bed warmed feet
upon a cold floor in morning
to arise
and once more light
that inner fire
that will carry us
through to that next moment
of darkness --
the retreat from a world
that often seems to stand
against us –
the clamor of empty voices
rising in a chorus of protest --
each one of those cries escaping
from a similar bed
with similar desires
each one shouting to be heard
above the herd.
And all are deserving.
But, for the sake of sanity,
each one of us must consider
ourselves
to be
the most deserving of all.
FD. 2.16.09
Mother and Son
We’re all dancing
on the edge of a dime.
And in times
of near disaster
nothing defines the meaning
of life
more clearly
than a beautiful mother and son --
the perpetuation of good
things done in past
and hopefully future --
even as we become undone
by lacking leaders
we can resist receding
into despair
knowing that
that kind of love
still exists.
FD. 10.1.08
Old Cat Eyes
An old Tomcat
marbles high and low
still intact,
secure as I saunter in --
no cataracts --
no fear of heart attack --
the scent of her
lingers on the stoop
of the back door --
her early slink a shadow still there.
I, seeking to suck the sweets
of sweet philosophy
and to suckle the sacks
that have the potential
to provide a milky beverage --
my main leverage a knowledge
gained from years of catting around.
Leavened by the wisdom
of graying whiskers
avoiding the whispers
of well meaning friends
who envy my still sleek mane
and ability to tame
the female of the species --
make her purr in the presence
of my lion-like liquid tongue
and steely leer
that never fails to get
the cat’s meow
and have her feline fur
tickling my genitals
as I lock her cat eyes in mine.
FD. 4.2.08
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