BBQ in the Brain

 —Rengay Collaboration by Barbara Harris Leonhard,
Melissa Lemay, and Nolcha Fox
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Nolcha Fox

 

 

THEY WON’T LET US BACK AGAIN

We poets trashed the hotel room
We shattered the window to toss Bukowski’s
and Plath’s
ghosts into the pool, they were downers
anyway

They floated out of the water as though
baptized
They ordered biscuits and booze at the bar

Sylvia said the biscuits
were overdone–too crunchy
Then she fell asleep

She left crumbs in the sheets
and spilled wine and sleeping pills on the
pillows

Charlie put his cigarettes out on the mattress
We tossed the two renegade poets out the
window again
and slipped past reception without paying the bill

Two phantoms of Hemingway’s cats
met us outside, “time to pay up,” they said

 

 

 

 

SEASONS HAVE NO REASON

My flower garden
grows brittle and golden
at season’s close.

Season’s clothes change
too often, I’m confused.

Orange is not my color. I look sallow
in yellow. Brown brings me down.
I miss spring pinks. Summer blues.

Wearing flip-flops in the snow,
I fall down the stairs…

I can’t adjust to season’s moods.
She is too hormonal
and she flip-flops way too often.

We sip cranberry lime seltzer water. Pretend
it’s wine. And wait for Spring, who’s always late.

 

 

 

 

ANGER BRINGS ME DONUTS

To console me for the nightmares she inflicts
until each dawn, although we share a sweet
tooth,
she always brings me down

Anger gives me sweets so my teeth decay
I invite her to pay the dental bills

She throws my money
out the car window and eats
bars of dark chocolate

The bitter kind, like her, a disgruntled old lady
who has lost
her smile because she’s lost her teeth to sweets

When I’m toothless
I can eat the insides
of a jelly donut

And shut anger in the container
I keep my dentures in at night

 

 

 

 

BARBECUED

My inner critic is hosting a barbecue in my brain.
All you can eat with takeout boxes. People love
the burnt beef. Word Salads. Bangers & Mash.

My inner critic says, don’t bake words,
bake pies at the local restaurant, there’s a job
opening.

Critic, shut up.
You aren’t Siskel or Ebert.
Go wash some windows.

I’ll scrub the mouth of that inner judge.
Convicting me.
Serving me up on a chipped platter. He’s
minced meat.

That inner critic stuffs me full of
chocolate-covered lies.
No way I can diet that down.

I add some marshmallows between
graham crackers and make s’mores.

 

 

 

ON A DARK STREET

Under the stars
the streetlights shine
in their own universe

The moonlight casts shadows of characters
in the park across our dark street

On a dark street, I hit a doe with my truck
I’ll put her in the freezer before I’m jailed
for hunting in town without a license

A rabbit’s eyes glow in the
floodlights of an oncoming car

They honk a warning, and the rabbit veers
into the trees, scattering fireflies into the fescue
and alarming owls on the hunt for mice

Critters skitter through the silence
left in the wake of lights slicing the night

 

 

 

A GOLDEN PASSPORT

I met an old lady with a cloudy right eye.
She gave me a golden key,
a passport to where?

Thankfully, I didn’t need
to get my picture taken.

My photos are fractured
by light and by grief.
I scissor them along the lines.

My fractured face gets me on
The Good Ship Lallylag.

I drift away to Neverland.
Never want to come home—
I lollygag.

Never mind, Neverland. Not going anywhere
but the emergency room. I’m gagging on
lollipops.

 

 

 

ALL ABOUT POWER

I push the button.
He turns into a robot
ready for battle.

My power surge is stronger.
He doesn’t have a chance.

Lightning strikes the generator.
Power is out all over town.
How am I going to make coffee?

I’m out of batteries
and I don’t have matches.

I’m facing the robot, looking for options,
I short-circuit him, trip him,
push him down the basement stairs.

I can’t open the darned door to get to that trip
switch.
I’d better not walk into that dark basement alone.

__________________

Today’s LittleNip:

When angry, count to ten before you speak. If very angry, count to one hundred.

—Thomas Jefferson

___________________

—Medusa, with thanks to our Three-Muskateer collaborators today for their fine poetry! For more about the Rengay, go to https://haikupedia.org/article-haikupedia/rengay/.

 

 

 

 “Anger gives me sweets…”
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that

El Dorado County Poet Laureate
Stephen Meadows will be reading
in Cameron Park today, 5:30pm.
For info about this and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
 during the week.

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
 into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
 to find the date you want.

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!

 

Where are those donuts?