But At What Cost?

 

—Poetry by Sterling Warner, Union, WA

—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

 

FORTUNE COOKIES
                                                         
Brenda fed me cherries & olives
like an a Greek god attendant
before insisting I return her favors
in full using turnips, radishes,
celery & carrots; for dessert, we
crumbled stale fortune cookies
over libertine bodies, occasionally
tasting morsels that fell on our
lips before reading trite sayings
prefaced with “between the sheets”—
followed by “but at what cost?”
 
            Between the sheets,
            Now is the time to try something new…
            —but at what cost?
 
            Between the sheets,
            Take advantage of your creativity…
            —but at what cost?
 
            Between the sheets,
            The greatest risk is not taking one…
           —but at what cost?
 
Rules never changed for us, two
kids from the projects who never
knew opulence nor enjoyed luxury
as children; now on our backs,
tie-dye t-shirts littered with titbits
courtesy of the Emperor’s Palace,
we pondered a future where paper
clairvoyance sparked our imaginations
& pledged daily to maintain a bowl
of fresh fortune cookies as our youth
dwindled and twilight years encroached.

 

 

 

 

DISCO DREDD
 
Tom Collins emerged as social protests seemed exhausted—
Soldiers pulled out of Vietnam, plumbers busted at Watergate—
new outsiders denounced stigmatization of dance & cocktails
watched rock’s Whisky a Go Go step aside for Studio 54
 
privileged radicals patronized discothèques, Piña Coladas
flavored lips & perspiration clung to polyester fabric.
  
Brandy Alexanders & androgynist funk, mid ‘70s
disco cool decreed & enforced the rules of fashion:
metallic-wrap dresses severely shimmered— 
lycra fabric, flared slacks, spandex hot pants—
 
extravagant yet almost tame against a backdrop of  
sexy sequin V-neck blouses and backless halter tops.
 
Tequila Sunrises reigned as Tony Maneros wannabes
preened themselves: stylized long hair, blown back or greased,
buttoned-down shirts opened, flaunting gold chains—
exposing desirable though not mandatory chest hair —
 
paltry pick-up lines practiced, platform shoes polished
prepared to perform and impress like footloose champions.
 
Slamming down Harvey Wallbangers, strangers and couples
all sang “I Will Survive” like Donna Summers & consumed
disco biscuits, energy enhanced by cocaine & Quaaludes,
bodies buzzing, mirror balls reflecting, strobe lights throbbing.
 
feverish dazed dancers stomped to big, chunky basslines:
syncopated, vibrant, flashing four-on-the-floor beats.

 

 

 

 

KITCHEN KITSCH
 
Gingerbread cookies take a nonbinary
step towards existing neither as men
nor women or pansexual sugar lovers.
 
No change to cookie cutters that sliced
equal dough devoid of gender benchmarks
like breasts, biceps & reproductive organs.
 
Eyes & mouths take the shape of sweet frosting
all figures have two arms, two legs, torso & head
yet dubbing them simple gingers still’s not PC.
 
Younger generations lack anatomy appreciation
elders roll their eyes & reflect on a past when
people baked confections they’d call by name.

 

 

 

 

TRANSITIONING SKYDIVERS
 For my siblings: Debbie, David,
Coco, Scott & Kevin
 
We
took
turns, read

Charlotte’s Web
to farm animals,
nearby field hands, passing strangers;
 
marveling at masterpieces
spun with silk threads as
spiderlings
ballooned
through
air,
 
rode
trade
winds like
well-balanced
surfers catching waves,
touched down on storm cellar bunkers
 
sunflowers, cornstalks, championed
Wilburs, sought fresh starts
engendered
life from
egg
 sacs.

 

GENTLE RAINS GONE AWRY
 
Oils, watercolors, acrylics
spill across canvases mixing hues
heightening colors, bringing
life to early-morning drizzles
preserved for onlookers who
open eyes to the sight of dawn’s
misty rays casting rainbow
tints on houses, fields, roads,
& orchards—absorbing moisture
like babies feeding on bottles
teething on rubber nipples
receiving life-affirming milk.
 
Cloud bursts give way to sprinkles,
downpours step aside for torrential rain
seeded by AM showers, spreading
over mountain peaks, across valleys—
teaming with lightning, cracking
with thunder, heralding magnificence. 

 

 

 

 

SCARLET SUNSET   
 
Swag lamps swing in homes
floodplains swell outdoors
weathered piers jut out of
the western arm of the Hood Canal
as it feeds Annas Bay at twilight.
Whooping crane silhouettes
emerge from the Skokomish River’s
blood red waterway gently lapping
the sandy embankment where children
toss rocks, pointing to seals jostling
for space on an old redwood pontoon
grunt like alpha males declaring dominance
& females pushing young pups in line.
Gulls & heron quit the raft, alighting
on stumps of old wooden piers
waiting for winds to die, snowdrifts to melt,
invaders to heed the king tide & move north
upon the fjord’s magenta surface
like barking dogs navigating an open vein.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

I’m happy to sparkle like a glazed disco ball.

—Paloma Elsesser

_____________________
 
A Washington-based author, poet, educator, and Pushcart Nominee, Sterling Warner’s works have appeared in such literary magazines, journals, and anthologies as the Atherton Review, Street Lit, the Shot Glass Journal and Metamorphoses. Warner’s volumes of poetry include Rags and Feathers, Without Wheels, ShadowCat, Edges, Memento Mori, Serpent’s Tooth, Flytraps: Poems, and Cracks of Light: Pandemic Poetry & Fiction—as well as Masques: Flash Fiction & Short Stories. For more about Sterling and his work, go to https://www.amazon.com/Cracks-Light-Pandemic-Fiction-2019-2022/dp/B0BMZBGCJR/ref and/or https://www.amazon.com/author/amazon.com_sterling.warner/. Welcome to the Kitchen, Sterling, and don’t be a stranger!

 

 

 

 

_____________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Sterling Warner



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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