Thursday, July 27, 2017

The Crickets' Companion

When I saw all the dark angels gathering, their wings spread over the sky like black umbrellas, I put my pen down and chewed on the skin of my thumb.
When I saw them descend, voices booming, damning the sinners for their sins, I regretted that I had not lately called my mother.
When I saw the earth open up into a pit of hell, and the sinners slide down squealing like pigs to slaughter, I felt warm droplets of sweat form on my cheeks.
When the Great One appeared in blazing yellow glory, and called the saints to live in High Paradise by his side, I ran out to join the ascent.
The masses rose up above me, all those tall short old young fat thin rich poor who had done good in their lives, who had lived according to the Spirit, all of them rose above me so that I could see the bottoms of their shoes, millions of shoes, and, to my shame, I could see up the skirts of those who were wearing dresses…
And when all had been vacuumed up to High Paradise, I stood alone in an empty world, waving my arms and crying to the Great One that I had been forgotten.
When my arms got tired from waving, I lowered them, and heard the crickets chirp.
What am I now? I thought. I am no one’s employee, no one’s friend. I am no one’s son, no one’s lover.
There was no one to serve me ice cream. There was no one to check out my library books. There were no traffic sounds; no need to look both ways before crossing. I wondered if this was purgatory, or if I had simply been forgotten.
Forgotten.
I sat on a park bench and waited for the Great One to remember that I was meant to be vacuumed up as well.
But the stars came out, the shadows grew, and I was still just the person the Great One forgot. 
I ran around smashing some windows, whacking some fire hydrants with crowbars, just to watch them spew.
Was it because I had looked up the saints’ dresses as they ascended that I had been consigned to this leftover earth? Was that my final, subtle test of sainthood--had I failed?
I was doomed to chastity now, I realized. Unless I developed a liking for donkeys. Or sheep.
The crickets’ chirp grew louder, and I felt bad for smashing things, even though I hadn’t really hurt anyone. It wasn’t as if there were shop owners anymore.
I realized I didn’t have to go back to my apartment to sleep. I could sleep in the most luxurious penthouse in the city. I could sleep in the mayor’s mansion! But I went back to my own apartment anyway. I wanted to smell the smell of my sheets, and make sure my goldfish was still there.

Saturday, July 1, 2017

Mrs. Mop

Mrs. Mop couldn't stop mopping--just couldn't!
She mopped the floors, then mopped again
Although she knew she shouldn't
She mopped the toilet, mopped the walls, and even mopped the ceiling
There was something about mopping
She found utterly appealing
"The soapy water, oh!" she sighed
"The mop head's soggy strings!
And dancing with the handle!
What merriment it brings!"
The floors were always wet, and so
They quickly started molding
Her children cried: "Stop mopping!"
And they gave their mom a scolding
"I only tried to clean," she said
"That's why I did the mopping."
"The problem is," her children said
"Your mopping is nonstopping!"
"I guess if all you kids agreed
To keep things clean and neat
I wouldn't need the mop
And you could put it on the street."
"Done!" her children answered
And they cleaned the house themselves
The mop was given up
Or maybe hidden in the shelves
And that's how clever Mrs. Mop
Who'd faked the whole obsession
Never had to clean again
And taught her kids a lesson.