Shallow pools of unspoilt water
Sit below a Betty Crocker window
With hanging deep crimson baskets
That fill the air
With freshly baked flowered Mondays
Spreading out is the pony picket fence
That shines White House Tuesday
Separating the gumshoe green grass
From the oilskin decay
Of the Red Riding Hood forest
Sporting Wednesday’s haircut
Half-way there
Here’s where the country house patio
Holds the dad’s weekend project picnic table
Thursday’s moldy sandwiches
Crawls into cracks upon the Indian paintbrush deck
Where Friday morning dew drops
Freshens up the green spots
Under the Saturday afternoon oak
That tickle the fresh from shower toes
Wiggling for joy amongst the John Deer grass
Where taste tests start
Out of the Sunday brunch basket
Two drive-in lovers packed
For their dollar store romance
Fresh in from the Marilyn Monroe raindrops
Settling the shallow pools of water waiting
Under the Betty Crocker window
Tag: green grass
Pull Yourself Together, Man (day 509)
Pulled apart by the systematic changes dropping down upon my tattered shoes that I’ve left long ago at a doorstep, never to return to. But oh, so lonely the walks have begun to become without the trendy flash flickering it’s way through the eyes of all the girls that dress in fur coats and hot sunglasses. Don’t destroy the value lines hidden beneath the coating of champion sauce. Don’t wash off that layer of adolescent desire like a grimy layer of sweat… It’s hard work!. I’ll be happy taking the easy road from here on out without the sanded streets killing my rust, man.
Take leave. Take the bust game and bat that sand bag into the earth’s green green grass. Take the short stick and walk with a wobble. Leave the bag of empty tricks alone and forget your wineskin on the counter in a house you’ll never return to.
Foreign music cursing through my veins alone on this park bench. The night that knows my name whistles through the trees with high contrast and annoying light flirts. But the howling wind lets my hair play an un-titled orchestra with pipes that haven’t yet been replaced for the newer, electric type. Oh, you thought we’d be upgrading did you?
Long lists of grocery bills folded into uncanny piles of forgotten trash leaving customary hand-swipes along the cheap bedroom furniture that just feels like it’s wrong. These same receipts that bought me happiness and bought me bitterness and bought me bills that make my pants heavy in the crotch with depression and soaking rage against this onslaught of commercial advertisements bombarding my sensories like a blossoming orgasm that’s been building for the past 5 months.
Greed seeping in like a like button on a risque photo with blurred out nipples. Danger alerts the drug addicts that wait along the edge of the street hoping for new hits but fearing the police that roam around the corners of the danger district. Hookers down the alleys pissing in paper bags and smiling with missing tooth grins, black eyes, and a faces that’ve been turned into a potato bags. Long sacks and cold nights and wet hair and shaggy beards and pants hovering around ankles with flaps of skin showing from places nobody wanted to see today.
When did you last shower?