tiny fuzzy goat-man
four chins and hairy shoulders
shimmies as he dances and prances
mingles and mixes with vixens
and manner of wild beasties
who gorge on feasties or
finesse feats of frankness
pawing the floor and rearing
clamoring to claim the last clam
or juicy bit of ham
welcome to the fete
welcome to the ball
satyrs all
Her direct gaze was unnerving. I saw intelligence, wile, and hunger there.
She turned her head, pointing her chin west, the sun no more
than a memory in the star strewn sky, then leveled her gaze once again on me.
My body was immobile though my heart raced, running
rabbit-scared within the cage of my ribs. The hair on the back of my neck rose
along with ripples of gooseflesh across my arms.
In slow motion I swiveled my head east. She mirrored me.
Together, we watched the full moon rise. We tipped back our heads and howled, teeth
gleaming in the nocturnal light.
The word smith sits, smitten with
stories and tall tales and poetic justice
pen racing across lined paper
striving to capture meaning in secretive lines
and squiggles containing
strategically placed air holes though air is heavy
with heady concentration no
constipation of thought allowed just freeform
flowing creation.
Hub rolled down the street. Her long, thin legs propelled her
quickly, efficiently. When she was a child, the kids on her block called her
licorice legs, but she had grown into them. They were, in fact, one of her best
features.
She was only a few paces from the corner store when a voice
called out. “Hub. Hey Hub. I got something for you.”
It was old Missus Fitzsimmons from the mission, waving to
her from across the street. She always seemed to appear out of nowhere when Hub
really, really needed something, or someone, even if she herself didn’t
recognize the need.
Hub turned and strode toward the elderly lady, who stood
still, apparently grateful that she needn’t bother her arthritic knees and
swollen ankles with unnecessary locomotion.
Missus Fitzsimmons looked up at Hub and smiled.
“Hey Missus Fitzsimmons. How are you today?”
“Just fine Hub. Just fine. I’m so glad to see you.”
Based on the way she was beaming, Hub knew she meant it.
Missus F had been with the mission long before Hub found herself devoid of parents
and a place to live. She was always kind and welcoming, encouraging Hub and
others from the neighborhood to take seconds in the soup kitchen, and knitting
mittens for them all for the cold winter months. She never seemed to tire of helping others.
“Hub, a letter came for you today.”
The mission let Hub and others who were ‘between homes’ list them as a
permanent address. They were expected to stop by every few days to pick up
anything that had arrived.
Missus F pulled a fat white envelope from her handbag and
held it out to Hub. The return address was Columbia College. Hub’s heart
stopped and her breath caught.
The distraction contraption
captures eyes and minds
fracturing focus
You won’t know why your
decisions are diverted and
your mind muddled but
it’s the way it goes
and goes and goes
A passion for distractions
led Miss Mindy to
derail her details
upsetting Arnold’s apple cart
and Sally’s side gig
Focus was foregone and
forlorn Frida fell faint
Danny ditched their date
his focus glued to
a new gadget
He lost all track of time
poking and stroking his
iThingy until a bell in his head
went dingy and he remembered Frida
alone at a table with a plate of Alfredo
on a summer’s Friday night
Black crow
Watch your strut
Bob your head
Tut tut tut
Don’t think too hard
Just go with the flow
When it’s right
The flow will know
Black crow
Bob your head
And you will see
What keeps you fed
Squirrel and rabbit
Deer and cat
You duck and jive
‘Nough to keep you fat
Black crow
Dip your beak;
Below your feet
Is all you seek
Flap your wings
Shuffle your feet
Lift off to the trees
Though you want more to eat
Black crow
Watch the street
Knowing fast cars bring
More meat
Watch your strut
Bob your head
Shuffle those feet
Feast on the dead
Bitsy woke with a snarl in her hair and an itch in her
belly. Mamma would say that she’d gotten up on the wrong side of the bed, but
she put her feet down on the same piece of floor as every other morning. It was
her only option. The opposite side of the bed was snug against the wall to make
space for her baby sister’s crib on the other side of the room. She grumbled
her way down the hall and to the kitchen table.
It was dark so Bitsy sat down to wait. The hard chair
bothered her bottom and the itch in her belly grew. The clock above the stove
showed 12:20 am, but since she could not yet tell time, she had no idea that breakfast
was a long wait away. No matter, Bitsy was not renowned for her abiding
patience and after five minutes of excruciating inactivity, she decided to get
it herself.
She scraped her chair across the floor. Next, she monkeyed
up to stand on the seat and reached for the box of Sugar Bombs perched on the
fridge. She stretched every inch of her 5-year-old body, but her fingers merely
grazed the edge of the elusive box and pushed it further from her grasp. It was
now wedged against Mamma’s favorite candlesticks that lived atop the fridge to
keep them from harm’s way.
“OK Bitsy,” she said to herself. “Think. How can you make
yourself taller?”
A flush of pride rose through her as the solution became
apparent.
Bitsy rose up and onto the very tips of her toes like the
ballerinas she saw in Cinderella at the Grand Theater last week. Still not tall
enough.
She began to bounce. Not quite. She executed a small leap
reaching far enough to knock the box of breakfast delight into the candlesticks
sending them all flipping off the edge of the fridge. Cereal rained down like
confetti, light and colorful. Unfortunately, Bitsy did not have time to enjoy
the view or imagine that she was a hero in a parade because the candlesticks,
made of heavy crystal, fell faster than the cereal and whacked her on the head.
This triggered the backward descent of the chair on which Bitsy landed heavily,
smashing the candlesticks into even smaller pieces.
Heavy steps hurried from Mamma and Pappa’s bedroom just as
Bitsy, now covered in blood and breakfast cereal, realized it was not really
the time for breakfast after all.
