All posts in "Jack Sprat"

Father’s Day

Published June 19, 2018 in Eve , Jack Sprat - 0 Comments

Fathers Day

There were stains on his jacket, coffee or wine. They had been there so long he didn’t see them anymore.
“Happy Father’s Day, Dad.” Eve said.
She handed him a bouquet of yellow and red flowers. Sunflowers, zinnias and some carnations.
“Read the card, it’s funny.”
Jack opened the envelope and read it and laughed.
“Yes, you do.” He said remarking on something she had written. It was well after three in the afternoon. He had made himself pancakes and poached eggs in the morning to celebrate, alone.
This used to be a day like his birthday where there was some overture to make him feel loved. But since the marriage had ended, he had to make do on his own.
Eve came through in the end and miracle of miracles also did the dishes.
There is a God.

Abel

Published May 30, 2018 in Cintusia , Jack Sprat , Meta Jane - 0 Comments

Abel

A rustling in the nasturtium,

hoping to make a run to the wood pile.

Tommy could smell him from the porch,

lunging into the air like a high jumper.

Over and over and over again.

“He’s killed three of them so far,

his breed is bred to hunt rats, you know.”

“They aren’t rats.” said Meta Jane.

“They’re close.”

“It’s not right, they’re no match for him.”

“He’s earning his keep, saving the garden.”

She stopped talking,

not wanting to dignify that last comment.

Fidgeted and ran her fingers

gently across her forehead.

She really needed that ASMR video

almost craved it.

Was that supposed to be a joke?

Mundane Rabbits

Published May 23, 2018 in Eve , Jack Sprat - 0 Comments

Mundane Rabbits

A pool of shoe fish

swimming around the closet floor.

No one is in control,

it’s absolute anarchy.

The Levy sneakers were a gift.

Jack wore them once

to his uncle’s retirement party.

Felt like he was cheating

on his Chuck Taylors.

He retired them after that.

Thirteen fleas,

he picked thirteen fleas

off of the insect.

Celine,

cute in the extreme,

lunging at the cats,

like they were missiles.

Clothes Horse

Published May 15, 2018 in Jack Sprat , Ruth - 0 Comments

CLothes Horse

“I think I’m depressed.” Jack said.

“We’re all depressed,” said Ruth, “Man up.”

“Which tie should I wear?”

“The one with the sperm design.”

“Ha ha. It’s Art Deco.”

“It’s not.”

“It is. It’s vintage, this tie was

actually worn in the nineteen forties.”

“It was not, silk doesn’t last that long.”

“It’s not silk. It’s Belgian polyester.”

“That’s not a real thing, you’re such a liar.”

“From Belgium, post war polyester.

They make outfits for sex dolls out of it now.”

“They do not. Art Deco?”

“Are you sure you don’t mean Art Dildo?”

Global Swarming

Published April 12, 2018 in Jack Sprat - 0 Comments

Global Swarming

Spring, but it was hot.
Like mid-July heat.
The two dogs wanted inside.
Tommy, the Jack Russell,
was clever enough
to open the screen door himself.
He chose, instead,
to ooze desperation and
the threat of heat stroke.
In the cage was the insect,
a little Pom mix that’s
a tad bit inbred.
Basically, a canine gnat.
Constant jumping, biting
and errrrrrring.
Jack was reluctant
to let either of them in.
“It’ll be cool any minute,
the sun’s going down.
And they’ve got water.”
he reasoned to himself.
“You can’t give in and spoil them,
they’ll walk all over you if you do.”

Your Mother Keeps a Man

Published February 7, 2018 in Jack Sprat - 0 Comments

Yo Mama

It was an open secret

and Jack just plain hated him.

Ruth, his mother,

was still waiting for the divorce

to be finalized

and Mr. Smarmy Pants

was already circling.

He had a pointed face that

arrived at his nose

and made him look like a rat.

He offered to give Jack and his buddy

a ride to the train station

in his little red sports car.

There was barely enough room for two

in the front and Jack had to squeeze

in behind the seats.

He wanted so badly to reach around

and poke his eyes out.

“Going to the Casino tonight”

the rat said, “I’m feeling lucky.”

Word Play

Published November 29, 2017 in Cintusia , Jack Sprat , NY Stories - 0 Comments

 

Word Play2“A hard-on is not chemistry”, Cynthia said,

Hands on hips.

“Damn it!” he thought.

“So close and she has to get all

definitiony. Fuck!”

“You’re right, baby.” he said apologetically.

“Don’t ‘you’re right baby’, me.”

“I’m driving you home.” she said.

Somehow she hit every green light

on the avenue.

Jack couldn’t catch a break.

Just Deserts

Published October 15, 2017 in Jack Sprat , LA Stories - 0 Comments

Just Deserts

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.

Teen Spirit

Published October 7, 2017 in Jack Sprat - 0 Comments

Teen Spirit

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.

Psychobabble

Published October 4, 2017 in Jack Sprat , Ruth - 0 Comments

Psychobabble2

“Freud was the one who introduced the idea of projection,” said Ruth.

“No he didn’t. Freud was a fraud, a coke head, and he faked his case studies.” replied her son, Jack.

“He was not a fraud. Jung was a fascist.”

“What do you mean?”

“A nice fascist, but he was a fascist.”

“Not true!”

“He was always jealous of Freud.”

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