Juice Read online

  Down on the street two men in hurries

  entered both sides of their Chevys.

  Answered, what if no tomorrows?

  Anything can happen when you drink

  spilled coffee from the

  saucer.

  Down at the Minit Mart a dog with four more legs

  had been bitten by a spider.

  Next week he’ll splash page five of The Enquirer.

  Out on the cloverleaf I circle.

  Additions multiplying in the subdivisions total.

  Riding with Fred

  I wedge in among adjustable wrenches,

  gas rags, ringlets of tire chains

  weighing down what’s barely floorboards

  as we almost must pedal, if there were pedals,

  to get anywhere. Through holes everywhere

  I see outside not even trying to get in.

  Yes, there’s dust and puddle splash,

  purpled leaves and pebbles. Don’t forget pebbles,

  I hear him say. What he wants to say

  with his gas pedal play and oversteering is

  you’ll only get everywhere going like this

  as he runs down the yield sign on the roundabout.

  Going Anywhere

  Do you know the way to San Jose?

  asks Dionne in a song.

  I always wanted her to sing about Cape Cod

  but then somebody already had.

  I think Dionne lends a certain je ne sais quoi

  to the art of how to get places.

  I think more of us could get to where we’re going

  more melodically

  if occasionally

  we’d let ourselves get lost

  in song. Then not everybody

  has the voice of inquiry like Dionne.

  Not everybody knows how to open themselves up,

  let parts of the geographically known world in.

  Only few of us can sing

  like we’re going anywhere.

  Becoming Legend

  At some point in their lives just about everybody

  wants to go to Hollywood to see stars. My point

  is now! Just turned sixty, and as the pilot announces

  we’re about to land in LA, I hear a big W H O O S H

  and everywhere outside my window I see seaweed,

  not palm trees. Others on board see seaweed too.

  I’m here to see stars and I’ll be darned if that

  isn’t young Lloyd Bridges from Sea Hunt snorkeling

  with a dolphin and there, Jack Cousteau, skinny

  and French as ever, and no, it can’t be, it is,

  it’s Miss Esther Williams doing her famous butterflies,

  and oh my gosh, I can hardly believe my eyes,

  I see other planes out there buzzing around, diving

  and swimming with mantas and hammerhead sharks

  and the gi-normous finbacks, one with a baby, and look,

  look, it’s the giant squid Architeuthis everyone has been

  wanting to get a glimpse of. The pilot comes on again

  and tells us we can now deboard and thank you

  for flying Ocean Air. I make my way to the carousel. Where did these sunglasses I’m looking through come from?

  And all of the flash bulbs and people with pens?

  Oh, Miss Merman, it’s so wonderful to see you again!

  Make Do

  Sue wants to have a near-death experience

  before she goes to the dentist and then shopping.

  She wants to see who comes to her rescue

  and will they get grossed out

  by her tartar buildup and holey T.

  Then who among them would not lift a finger

  or put their lips to hers, pump her heart?

  She’ll watch the whole thing from above

  like she’s sitting on the ceiling. When she comes back,

  that’s if she does, she’ll write a book and share

  excerpts on Dr. Phil. Truth is, temporarily,

  Sue’s lost her smile and could use a ride to the mall.

  Tripping

  Mars is in the mirror again and you

  are so up in the air about the weather

  and whether to fly or drive to Richmond.

  It’s not until Thursday either will happen

  but you know how nervous deep sleep can get

  when end-of-tunnel light starts

  strobing and the circuitry inside walls starts

  chording and cat’s shadow can be seen

  crossing the ceiling and then is when I’d start

  unpacking.

  Let Richmond

  come to you.

  Two

  Deed

  House has been

  nudging her all week

  to sharpen something.

  Before it burns down

  or gets condemned or

  shuffled by a twister,

  it wants to dictate

  in not so many words

  its memoir.

  She laughs

  right in its front porch.

  Who wants to hear about

  multiple gables?

  What shack or shanty

  on some back street

  gives a shingle?

  But since it’s sheltered her

  all these many years,

  she tells it, go ahead, spill.

  Truth comes out

  creak by creak.

  Who would have guessed

  you were hospice in the war?

  Whorehouse after

  when the mine reopened?

  A church when the church

  fell to its knees in a fire?

  Crack house for two months

  at the start of the new century?

  She gets it

  down on paper,

  paginated for an agent

  to flip through.

  Find pop, curb appeal,

  irregardless of location.

  List it

  a best seller.

  Debunkers

  Bob lives in a house with a bear

  out every window. When he opens

  the plantation shutters in the bedroom,

  a bear. When he parts the café curtains in the pantry,

  a bear. When he casts his eyes upward

  through the skylight in the den,

  a bear. A bear on the porch this morning

  with its paw poised to ring. Bob lets him in,

  offers him the recliner near the flat screen,

  even flicks it on for him and the bear fractures

  what looks like a big bear grin, doesn’t bristle

  when Bob tries out his own big bear hug.

  TV Land’s running a Gentle Ben marathon

  sponsored by Smokey and his slogan.

  Bear leaks out Goldilocks was a bottle blonde

  and a little spoiled to boot. As for Ben

  being gentle, he too was on the bottle.

  Old Smokey was a nobody until somebody

  discovered a body fit for denim and flannel.

  All of Bob’s fantasies were debunked.

  Chair bear exits, never to be heard from again.

  His work in Bob’s little gingerbread was done.

  Just Looking

  Upon arrival I walk beneath it.

  Make several unnecessary trips

  to his half bath down the hall

  so I can wink at it. Not once,

  not yet, do I stop directly under,

  look up into it. In his living room

 
I take a seat from where I will be

  facing it. During conversation

  my eyes grow big at it. My mouth

  hangs open like a bucket

  made to catch its drips, if it drips.

  When asked if I’d like water, I say

  no, a ladder, and he puts one under it.

  I climb. He asks, you want to

  dust it? Then’s when I find myself

  as far away as I can get from it.

  West Hollywood

  Who comes into your house and tilts

  the shades on all your fixtures,

  looks in at the bulbs?

  A watt inspector maybe?

  At Sal’s house, it’s the termite guy,

  the pizza guy but not the Chinese takeout guy,

  the cable guy who makes a night of it.

  When summer comes, Sal takes off all the shades,

  replaces standard bulbs with tinted

  shaped like pears and mangoes,

  bananas for the chandelier and matching sconces.

  Neighbors looking in with pointed fingers

  tastefully agree. There, you see!

  Sal must say he does

  and for the first time making house a home,

  he is going organic.

  Turning Tables

  Mr. & Mrs. go to church to meet the Lord

  and then to Lowe’s to show Him cupboards

  they would like Him to construct, give

  that special touch He’s got for turning poplar

  into something it isn’t. Just for us, they plead,

  even when He tells them they are barking

  up the wrong tree, that not that long ago

  He gave up soft sawdust under His feet

  for burning sand and sharp gravel. Just this once,

  bring out Your saw, Your hammer. We need

  the perfect kitchen to stir up masterpieces.

  Lord said He couldn’t remember when

  He last had a home-cooked meal, let alone a little

  something for later. He’d have to think it over.

  So He sits a minute with His head bowed

  in the bed of their brand new pickup. He asks

  if maybe He can go along home with them for supper,

  and to measure. They say, hmm, maybe later,

  and then the Lord says He’ll spring for all the fish

  sticks they can eat down at Long John Silver’s.

  Mr. & Mrs. confess it just doesn’t get any better.

  Out of Water

  I want to live by the sea.

  I want to be the side in seaside.

  Currently I’m living in exile.

  You are living in exile too

  but don’t know it yet. You

  still have a job. I don’t.

  I tell you that’s all going to change

  soon. Catch of the Day comes

  sooner than later and I’m

  a good scaler. Diners hate

  pulling scales to the sides

  of their plates. They love

  however to quibble over wine.

  Me, I drink anything wet.

  Once I drank juice from a box.

  Neighbor right next to me

  sleeps in a box,

  sounds like a wave crashing.

  Gold

  Bea’s mother’s

  the queen

  and most of the time they live in

  this big house she hasn’t even seen

  all of it, it’s so big.

  There are more big houses in the country and

  other countries.

  In all of the houses,

  in all of the rooms,

  gold,

  lots,

  and Bea asks her mother,

  the queen,

  why it stops where it does

  if we’re so rich and own a kingdom.

  Bea also wants to know

  why it isn’t a queendom

  and her mother,

  the queen,

  just rolls her eyes.

  Why not gild floors, Bea asks,

  why just the walls and the ceilings?

  Why not the passage

  down to the royal garage,

  the garage itself while we’re down there?

  Bea’s mother,

  the queen,

  annoyed like her bloodline with such inquisitions,

  snaps open her purse in the most unroyal of gestures:

  there,

  in a side pocket with the bright yellow pencil,

  the to-dos.

  Tree Falls in Sherwood

  Young Robin’s new construction

  wouldn’t pass inspection

  so the poor went back

  to their hovels. His merry men stayed on

  as merry men do

  to help him and fair Maid Marian

  turn the vestiges of the local castle

  near the national forest

  into a modest bed and breakfast

  with angle parking at the back.

  Certain members of the royal family

  overnighted there

  when attending the occasional rural do

  and just to come down in the morning

  for sausages, eggs, and tales

  with the multigenerational staff.

  Everyone tossed

  fat soaked crusts to the dogs

  and pitched in

  to clear the plates and silver,

  all vaguely familiar to the royals, wouldn’t you know,

  and not a word’s been said outside

  this kitchen, once the keep,

  till now.

  Wrecking Ball

  We are dancing in an old house

  dancing with itself. Music

  fills the rooms but wants to take

  itself outside and outdo sirens.

  Books have jackets off,

  no longer reading to themselves.

  Paintings askew themselves,

  seek small talk, finger sandwiches.

  Cat points at a moon

  that’s only seen itself in water

  and dog flees to another corner

  of the porch. Porch

  to another portion of the house.

  Coats come out of closets,

  bodies dip before the mirrors

  ready to knock some socks off.

  A Life on the Road

  You didn’t hear? He moved.

  Out onto Superhighway 9.

  Remember that big wreck?

  The colonial single wide?

  State’s let it settle off the exit.

  He’s still unpacking. Will stay

  forever if he can. No rent.

  His yard is litter, tire treads.

  He was conceived, it’s told,

  on the console of a service van!

  Little wonder his spine curves.

  Little wonder one eye

  stays open by itself. I swear

  I once saw him turn his head

  completely around.

  Pyrogyro

  I tell you in a whisper

  I enjoyed your warm words

  over the burn barrel. And what

  a lovely spectra as the fabric

  softener jug turned to goo.

  Wasn’t it thoughtful

  of the officer in his chopper

  to descend to just above us and declare

  the degree of your singed brow?

  He was one and the same