The Snake is King!
(Who's yer daddy?)
GOING OVER THE SUMMIT
—Ann Menebroker, Sacramento
—Ann Menebroker, Sacramento
We were heading for Utah in an old car without
a working heater.
The temperature dropped. It
began
snowing fiercely.
Dad finally had to get out to put on
chains, which made him so chilled and sick, we had
to find a motel to stay the night (and a half pint
of Old Grandad to warm him). There were six of us, including
my stepmother, two half-brothers (one just a baby) and my
other two brothers.
Dad put my brothers and me in our
own room, and the four of them in another
and the next day we headed on to Salt Lake City, no warmth
from the broken heater, little conversation from the adults
and
me, at age fifteen, wondering why people don't fix what's broken.
________________________
DEAR STRIPES,
Wish you were here to climb trees with me. Lots
of woodpeckers to catch. We'd look down from
the tip of the tallest pine, and Mom's not here to
stop me, like that time by the waterfall when
Dad stepped over the rail and walked out to the
edge, and I was right behind except Mom
grabbed me with one hand and the railing in the
other screaming all the way to the car. But
nothing exciting ever happens here. We just walk
single file across the meadow to the lake, muddy
toes and a counselor takes pictures, and then we
have a Nehi (I love orange) and walk back to
camp. I miss you but I guess you won't get this
because tiger cats don't get mail.
—Taylor Graham, Placerville
________________________
MY
DADDY LOVED BLEACHED BLONDES
—Patricia Hickerson, Davis
what
a legacy you’ve given me, Daddy
my
speakeasy Daddy, young man of the ‘20s and ‘30s
golden
age of romps and ruckus
my
low-voiced nerves
all
based on your love of Mae West
and
Jean Harlow, Garbo
Mom
in her 40s going grey
you
wanted her to bleach her hair
formerly
dark brown
you
wanted to live out your fantasy of blondes
the
slinky blondes in low-cut evening gowns
satin
slouching across the room
cigarettes
dangling from scarlet lips
polished
fingernails trailing along a man’s rough beard
he
might be a spy or a detective who snarled at her
slapped
her around
only
what she deserved
these
blondes of your dreams, Daddy,
and
you, the hard-boiled gunman
Daddy
you home-loving pussy cat
you
could never be the tough guy you dreamed about
throwing
hot coffee in the blonde’s face
to
disfigure her for life
following
Mae West upstairs
Marlene
Dietrich telling Orson Welles
“You
don’t look so good, have a candy bar”
in
your dreams, Daddy, you drank with these blondes
cocktails
for two, danced with them on a shadowed terrace
kissed
them high up in a New York penthouse
lured
them to bed
in
your dream of deep night, deep in the arms of love
with
your favorite blondes
I’ve
always tried my best, Daddy,
one
way or another,
to live out your dream of hell-bent desire
________________________
MELISSA BENTLEY
—Michael Cluff, Corona
—Michael Cluff, Corona
Never wore Mary Janes
or Doc Martens
did not have a tv
to her name
was near average
every day of her quiet life.
Took the bus from Home Gardens
to Lake Elsinore every Wednesday
to feed the ducks
with stale fritos and pita
from the tables
she hardly had ever eaten
from or cleaned in glee.
Decided one Labor Day
to do nothing
except exist
waiting until the stars
finally sang for her
alone, in and near harmony.
__________________________
I feel sorry for those who wave street signs for companies
especially in
the summer heat in Sacramento
The pavement
cooks and sunburns their sweaty skin through their soaked T-Shirts
as they breath car exhaust fumes
Yet they still
must smile and lively-dance with music headphones
Liquid breaks
likely provide little relief from what probably starts to feel like hell on
earth
For this, can't
help but notice the increase of the use instead of sign-waving manikins
like what I saw
at a popular sandwich chain on 65th Street
Who can blame them, not finding anyone to hire who will wear a
big-eyed cartoon pickle costume...
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
________________________
Considering the 50th anniversary of the 1962
"Great Escape" from Alcatraz prison this June:
You know, the case which they made into a Robert Redford movie
about how three prisoners escaped "the rock"
island—fooled guards with dummy heads at night which they made to look like they
were still in their beds
(If you've seen these heads in the former prison museum
today, they're pretty good "art" from a mixture of soap, toilet paper and
real hair!)
The prisoners climbed through
ventilation shafts to get outside prison walls
then left the island in a makeshift raft out of rubber raincoats
Can you imagine? the U.S Marshal and FBI are still looking
for the "disappeared" brothers Clarence and John Anglin and Frank
Morris
because bodies of them were never recovered out of the San Francisco Bay
If they had survived the cold ocean tides,
Gee, what threat would these former Alcatraz inmates present
today anyway if they are still alive in their 80's?!
If they ever
are found, why not absolve them of their crimes, and treat them as local
legends?
—Michelle Kunert
________________________
Today's LittleNip:
I bet, after seeing us, George Washington would sue us for calling him "father."
—Will Rogers
