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.

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.

My Uncle's Motorquacklers

In the motorcycle sidecar

Of my uncle's Yamaha

Are a pair of baby ducklings

That we nicknamed Zim and Za

My uncle didn't realize

That a duck had laid her brood

In a rusty motorcycle

That he'd hardly ever used

When we took them from the sidecar

They went 'QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK'

And kept up the commotion

Until we put them back

My uncle fixed the bike up

And took them for a spin

I made them little helmets

Out of rubber bands and tin

The children jump and giggle

As Zim and Za cruise past

My uncle honks his horn--beep beep!

And then speeds off real fast

My uncle is a fellow

Who enjoys a good duck roast

But now Zim and Za are famous

And my uncle likes to boast:

"It's the only Motorquackle

In a hundred thousand miles!

And everywhere I take it

All the folks erupt in smiles!"

The ducks who don't choose sidecars

As alternatives to nests

Might end up on a dinner plate

Divided, legs and breasts

But Zim and Za are special

They're as lucky as it gets

As official Motorquacklers

They're my uncle's favorite pets.

The Queen's Servant

the queen asked for a paw

'cause she wanted the claw

for a potion to poison

her daughter

and her servant said 'no'

"i'm no paw-cutter, so

i won't aid in your

hideous slaughter."

but that night as he slept

a slim feline had crept

to his bedroom

and mewled to awake him

he slurred: "shut your maw

or i'll cut off your paw"

and the cat slithered off

to escape him

yet the next night the cat

with a vengeance came back

and kept yawling

to keep him from snoozing

said the servant: "you creep!

if you keep me from sleep

i forewarn you'll end up

with a bruising!"

the third night, undeterred

the loud cat  that he'd heard

had arrived to continue

her mewling

so the servant awoke

and with blanket as cloak

he attacked her

to give her a schooling

with insomniac craze

and his mind in a haze

he dismembered the paw

of the kitten

and the murderous queen

entered quick on the scene

and snatched up the cat's foot

in her mitten

you can probably guess

that the end was a mess

and the queen made

her villainous potion

and the servant was seized

by such guilt and unease

'cause he knew that he'd

set things in motion

he felt anguish and pain

when the princess was slain

as he knew he'd

abetted the murder

and the moral is that

if awoke by a cat

you should know
it's indecent to hurt her.

That Lemon

that lemon will dress up in hot pants

that lemon will wriggle its butt

that lemon will slap on fake glasses

and show off his silliest strut

that lemon will fart with its armpits

which makes all the apricots blush

but one menacing wag of the juicer

and darned if the rascal don't shush!

the flower's funeral

at the flower's funeral, mostly bees attended

"it was a good flower," they said, "full of nectar."

that angel's touch

staring straight at the funhouse mirror

you see yourself with a unibrow

although you are looking straight ahead, in the mirror your eyes appear downcast

you see an angel on your right shoulder and a devil on your left

"those things aren't real," you think. "i don't have a unibrow."

you press your finger to the bridge of your nose and slide it upward with trepidation, wondering if you'll feel the thick frida kahlo bridge you just saw in your reflection

when you hit fuzz, you gasp

you decide to leave the funhouse and go to a regular mirror

the exit is down a corridor, and a woman in a long, white dress approaches you from the other end

she is carrying a hand mirror, which is facing toward you

in that mirror, your eyebrows are separated again

your eyes are looking straight ahead

the angel and the devil are gone

but, doubting yourself, you think maybe the funhouse mirror was true

did it show you the angel, devil and unibrow you never knew you had?

"angel," you whisper, "are you my conscience?" and a voice from over your right shoulder says, "yes"

"devil," you ask, "are you my bad intentions?" and a voice from over your left shoulder says, "yes."

you've almost forgotten the woman in the white dress who is now stripping, slipping the white sleeves off her shoulder, exposing her breasts.
"Oh no, no, no," you say, but the woman with the mirror says, "yes."