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Was a badass guitar player.
Like the huntress,
only her Strat was her bow.
And her solos were the arrows
she shot into the night.
When they gigged at the Bowl,
all the wild children went crazy.
She channeled that
into a blistering lead
that floored it off the bandstand.
The moon shone brightly.
“Hey batter, no batter, hey batter, you can’t hit.”
Bat, listen to me. I need you now.
Come here, I kiss you.
Swing and a miss.
I bite you!
Just make contact, that’s all.
Foul ball right field line.
with sugar on top.
I lick you.
One base hit, It’s all I ask.
Ophelia was frantically packing all the things
that she could justify as being hers.
Which was basically everything.
After 15 years of marriage,
Max was left with the toaster
and 4 plates.
In her haste she threw away
on unopened bottle of dipping oil.
What you might have on fresh bread.
Max took it out of the trash,
why let it go to waste?
She saw he had saved it
and threw it back in the garbage.
Rather it wind up in landfill
than with him.
Some of the best criminals
don’t choose it as a career path.
They don’t wake up one morning and say,
“Yeah, I want a life of crime.”
They gradually fall into it one little compromise
and action followed by another until
they’re in too deep.
WB’s Max Ernst sold for five million
and it fooled even the most
discerning collectors and dealers.
It was the dirt he put in the painting
that he collected from an attic in Barcelona.
God works in mysterious ways.
Rashes, sores and pestilence.
How people love to make him responsible
for all manner of random.
Then search for the meaning why.
Was it retribution or reward?
A death in the family,
the whole block burned but their house was spared.
The tree was struck by lightning and the sap exploded
sending shrapnel towards the house.
In the window was their coat of arms
it took a direct hit and smashed to pieces.
They’re cursed now for a whole generation.
Red ball, line of freight cars
big as a football field.
Standing on the platform,
smoking a cheap cigar.
Thinking about the next stop,
forgetting all the last stops.
No home to settle down,
No savings to fall back on.
There’s no 401Ks for drifters.
History doesn’t care for those who ride the Cadillac grainer.
Mickey overestimated what he could do.
Like we all overestimate ourselves, sometimes.
The lake didn’t seem that big,
except he hadn’t exercised in over a year.
Just dove in an decided impulsively to swim across.
It wasn’t that bad getting over there,
it was the swim back that got him.
Midway, the wind picked up
and water kept getting forced into his mouth and nose.
Bargaining with God,
“Just let me make it back,
I’ll never drink again.”
Decided to drop acid and climb the maple tree.
Jack brought his french horn.
Jerry got the bright idea that they should
bring down the telephone pole
in front of the post office with pruning sheers.
They snapped off as they went for
the main support cable.
Thank God that didn’t work out as planned.
“You know how old the office is.
She came for a treatment and had a visitation.”
“It was a woman though.”
“Everyone who works there knows Fred.
He’s a spirit that everyone has seen.”
“No one has ever seen a woman before.”
“Apparently, she had some kind of cough.
Hacked and hacked like a smoker.”
“Fred would never smoke. He’s a dancer.
We’ve seen him Tango, I kid you not.”
“You’re one fat rabbit.”
“Yeah? And your point is?”
“Just that you are one large rabbit.”
“I like to think I’m portly.”
“My point is you are the most epic rabbit this side of the Rockies.”
“Oh, I see, you’re a rabbit ass-kisser, that’s what you are.”
“Just big boned really, I thank my mother for that.”