Sunday, October 31, 2010

Lookin' for Ms. Write Vol.1 Num.1

i've been lookin' for ms. write fo' long-ass time,
bitch harder to find than a virgin on prom night!
see, i been lookin' where i shouldnah, i suppose,
too many gin joints with frightful jukeboxes,
too many nights ah wakin' up on the couch
embracing a crusty pillah and wipin'
the shame off my soggy lips,
"no more ah this hell,"
i told myself some time back,
"all the listerine in Hyde county
can't rinse that alkali-lined mouth,
how you expect to meet ms. write
if she can't properly stand to be
in proximity ah the sulfurous drain-pipe
you got flappin' un'erneath that hairy nose ah ya?"
see, i been sayin' this type of thing more frequently,
standing in front ah the mirror in a scolding-fashion,
pressin' my pointer-finger into the chest
of my own reflection,
i been havin' to buy too dang much windex,
and my shoulders have grown weary
from all that circular cleaning-motion,
plus my paws reek of windex,
which they say has got pneumonia in it,
which has scared one or two potential ms. writes off.
but, i shouldn't trifle over such things,
my therapist tells me,
she told me to take bold steps,
be adventurous,
and, normally i woulda shrugged
her suggestions off,
however, that very same afternoon
i read my horror-scope
and it told me the same thing,
so, i tried joinin' a book club
at the chain bookstore downtown,
thought what better spot than at a
romance novel book club
to find me a ms. write to take home,
i fancied i find myself in the middle of a bath,
and stretched out and the like,
with water nymphes pouring bowls of
freshly squeezed goat milk all over m' body,
whilst they peppered my ears with
expansive stretches of erotic narrative,
poorly-written, though beautifully delivered
by lips so soft ya figured they'd dissolve in water,
but, instead i got marge,
whose presence was analagous
to a queen ant,
some bloated sordid creature
sittin' upon her throne whilst these
depraved women around her
erected her ego like an anthill,
one pathetic kiss-ass pebble at a time.
we was talkin' about Virginia's Letter,
a shabby piece of trash, if ya ask me,
banal and predictable at every turn of the page,
so when it came time fer me
to give my two cents,
well, i gave them a buck and a quarter instead,
which rightly pricked marge
right in her station wagon ass,
and, she was so overwhelmed with ire
that she took on the color of blood,
and couldn't speak,
but, like literally began to fume and sputter
like some old jalopy crappin' down the road,
suddenly every last one of them worker ants
erupted in unrelenting diatribe,
and, i sort of became like hypnotized
by their droning on and on,
which is when i got lost and sort of
blurted out the word, "whore!"
and, instantly found myself being shanked
by an overweight caricature wearing
a red and white polka dot scarf,
jabbin' me with a Luna bar that
was still in its wrapper,
whilst marge's right-hand woman
slammed my head with her copy of Virginia's Letter,
each 567 pages of it gettin' its turn
to send my forehead and neck into
a state of suspended reality,
then i fell out of my plastic seat
and kissed the ground,
which is when i was drugged out of there
like some lousy drunkard,
and tossed out like the family dog.
as i pulled myself off the ground
a lady passed by and gave me
the bandanna she had tied around her neck,
she had hipster-hair and old woman eyes,
after i cleaned up my bloody lip
she said, "keep it,"
then she strolled outta my life,
"what's your name?" i yelled out,
"stella."
so, i watched her shiny boots
fade into obscurity,
then she disappeared.
i tell ya, these days it's becomin'
increasingly difficult to find me a ms. write.

~Marvin Gonzalez

3 comments:

  1. Dear Mr. Write,
    You are a head strong man
    words gilded and sequenced.
    The confidence you show
    blows
    sometimes
    it excites me
    to see your posture so
    straight
    much like a golden gate.
    My confident core shivers
    as I think of our first dinner.
    I can't help but read the future
    as I quickly push it to my past.
    Predictions fever my actions
    revealing deep rooted twitches
    of a fast floating mind.
    So, keep your confidence
    when it comes time to shine
    and maybe you can shine
    a little light on mine.
    Remember to have some foresight
    for your possible Ms. Write,
    for her stance in question
    may soften in passion
    at the moment of being swept away.
    Just make a date
    so we can conversate.
    And if you please
    I'll be set at ease.
    And we can drift away
    into the unknown sea.

    ReplyDelete
  2. who art thou, raeberac84? this is a very sweet poem, thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  3. It's a big step
    this deal to confess,
    but I'm not hard to find
    bouncing through your minds
    you like my kind.
    And I like
    beans and rice
    keep a strong hold of my vice
    in a lock box
    where a key on the finger
    finds the same sweetness
    to listen
    and feel the glisten
    of the table tops
    where newspaper mops
    and my zombies
    eat grains.

    ReplyDelete