Monday, March 23, 2009

A Poem Per Day Keeps The Shrink Away. . .

It's been a while since the last poem was published here. . . photos and comments about them are not all there is in life. . . had the guitar out too yesterday, singing some old favorites like : Mr Bojangles (Jerry Jeff Walker), Landslide (Fleetwood Mac), Hello In There (John Prine), Althea (Grateful Dead), All Around This World, and so forth. . . and even watched some TV last night for the first time in ages, caught the 1984 version of The Bounty mutiny story, with Anthony Hopkins, Mel Gibson, Daniel Day Lewis, and Liam Neeson.
. . . The Heritage
An old woman died
A month or two or three ago
I really don’t know when
I did not know her
Still don’t know her name
But for some reason
I am unable to explain
A roomful of her furniture
Found its way into our house
A heritage of sorts
One that nobody wants
From a distant great aunt
Once or twice or thrice removed
My wife and her eight siblings
Don’t want to be bothered
By trying to carve a chair
Into nine pieces fair and square
Splitting hairs
Over who shall have what
Finally they decided
To cart the whole lot off
And sell it
In the meanwhile
My living room has been invaded
By a sorry lot of upholstered chairs
With sagging seats
Harboring hints of ancient farts
And rosewater perfume
No two the same color style or size
Like a pack of scoundrel wild dogs
They eye me accusingly
Sizing me up for future diseases
Knowing they are unwanted
When no one was watching
I gave the awful crimson one
A swift kick that sent it
Skittering across the floor
Yipping angry yips of indignation
The large carton of silver cutlery
Looks like a refugee from a burglary
I honestly don’t know why it’s here
Tempting me to betray my thin vermeer
Of manners and morals and lies
The small bedside table
Has the air of a saucy siamese cat
I may just cut its throat
Lay its carcass on a silver platter
Carve it into neat wooden slices
And throw them on the fire
Worse than uninvited guests
Who won’t go home
I would gladly take a shotgun
Blow the ancient dresser to bits
Put the whole posse of mangy curs
Out of their misery
Then sweep up the floor
And get on with my life
I thought I was going to break my back
Hauling that damn dresser out the door
A curse on ancient great aunts
Lurking in the wings of family history
Anonymous until the day of their death
When all their impossible accumulation
Of hideous furniture and cracked china
Come calling unbidden unwanted
In the form of a haphazard heritage

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