* * * * *
Old Mother Mary
White haired old Mary
- the neighbor -
plods along, hunched over her walker,
just home from Sunday church.
She declares LOUDLY, unhappily,
to the lady who delivers her home
in the church van.
- "I WOULDA NEVER BELIEVED
I'D BE LIKE THIS: WHY I USTA
LIFT AND TOTE 70 LBS.
LOOK AT ME NOW. IT'S CRAZY!"-
*
inside their house, all week,
the two little old bent over
white haired ladies, who seem not
to have been graced with hearing aids,
shout in conversation, and, with the front door
open wide, listen to either LOUD christian
evangelical radio (the neighborhood listens!)
or to the sordid goings-ons in "Days Of Our Lives"
on afternoon television.
every day, one of the daughters arrives,
and the shouting hits a frenzied, tense pace
- (a loving family, this? i think not) -
sometimes the menfolk come
and an assault of "FUCK YOU'S"
errupts spontaneously in the front yard:
reprimands of the kid, or the little yapping white dog
that is always running over to shit on our lawn
and trying its damndest to avoid getting back into the car
when it's time to leave:
"GODDAMNIT SCOTTY, GET IN THE FUCKING CAR,
NOW!"
Run Scotty, run for your life!
i can't help but believe that one week, one day, one hour,
ONE MINUTE of life in the world, free
of that shouting madness has got to be better
than getting back into that goddamn car.
*
Scotty loads up,
after shitting,
and their twisted version of flesh and mind and spirit
- their version of humanity -
sets off down the road.
Old Mary and the other white haired old gal
(who remains nameless to us)
are left shouting at each other, at the poor cat,
at the walls, at the television;
left shouting prayers at their version of God
in their boisterous dreams
of their own crazy heaven....
* * * *
Hot Fudge Apocolypse
it was the end of the world
and all i could do
was to look for a hot fudge sundae.
chaos in the streets;
the sky was melting
into a crimson puddle
of molten computers
in front of us:
the great flood had begun,
so the radio said.
i had to have that hot fudge sundae,
so we fought our way
through the hysteric masses
until we found the ice cream parlor.
the counter ladies were smartly dressed
in black and white, and proudly displayed
a dizzying array of chocolate covered ice creams
in the shape of little animals.
("two by two"? i pondered)
the black and white robotic ladies smiled broadly
as the world collapsed around us:
"May i help you" one said calmly:
"do you have hot fudge sundaes?!!"
i pleaded,
but the world decided to end before she answered.
it's a lousy thing to enter into eternity
unsatisfied.
it turned out that the end of the world
was a suicidal marketing scheme by the recently merged
See's Candy and Baskin Robbins Ice Cream companies
it's a lousy thing when capitalists
can't see beyond the golden glaring tip
of their own greedy noses.
it's a godamned lousy,
unsatisfying thing.
..... 6-01 / dream journal variations
* * * *
(c) R.A. Evers, 2001