This week’s Little Vines.
eighteen years of bad memories
neatly and completely recycled
in one crunch of the crushing machine –
I keep feeding in the quarters.
I checked into the antique hospital
drew the scratchy cotton sheets up to my chin
there might have been jello too
but then my appendix burst and I sort of lost the plot
where is the guarantee, you want to know
that even if I hold the scalpel thing right
I will hit your appendix on the first try?
Solve this plot problem: If we buy the restaurant on the corner
If my sisters do the cooking and I’m the waitress
Who causes the explosion that puts an end to us all?
Today’s color is purple and
you say: tear-stained ink on scented notepaper
I say: a great big plump eggplant in the fridge
a breeze it’ll be a breeze
the Pink Pinwheel said
dizzy dazzling head-spinning beautiful breeze
a cold insult
Plenty of gratitude
in January, you say,
you will be married.
I bite off the thread.
Why does it matter so much?
A small woman at a big party
enmeshed in twenty pounds of velvet dress
caught like a fish in an expensive net but
unlike the fish she had a pair of scissors
I need and I mean I need that coffee grinder
to achieve my most alluring self –
and some hot water, too. Please.
The cabdriver splatters
the cat. The passengers
and the tires squeal down the road.
I’m game are you game?
and the music plays again.
The fuming merchant waits for your next offer.
I lie in bed
The world rotates the tide comes in
The foghorn groans a bleary-eyed good-night
the snow falls for you
submerges your troubles for you
builds a wall of wind-drifts to shelter you
shifts today’s worries to tomorrow for you
the abyss opens
Barbie swims free. In her wake
the paralyzed plumbing gasps and chokes.
the sun shines joylessly
the hatchet sings and kills:
Fried chicken tonight.
lithe and quick
behind the bride and groom