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BubbaSlayer
What Fresh Hell
Is This?
~ Dorothy
Parker ~
Life In A Powder Keg
By BubbaSlayer
Sailing smoothly through the workday,
I hesitate to seek the shores of home.
So I clean off my desk, file my nails and students' papers
Pretend to plan tomorrow's lessons,
All the while wondering if the fuse is now lit,
Or will my key in the front door ignite the flame.
Sometimes he's sure I strike the match on purpose,
By asking for a hand at home when I'd drowning in work,
Or by soaking in the company of someone else's pool,
While ours ripples vacantly in the yard,
His eyes blazing in rhetorical wonder
At why he ever put the damm thing in.
Other times I fan the flame carelessly,
Forgetting, when I've had a bad day,
Just how rough the course he sails.
If my eyes weren't always on my own horizon,
I'd see how hard he works at his job,
And how the don't appreciate him,
And how they take advantage of him,
And how he really doesn't need this shit,
And how I don't have a clue of what a bad day really is.
But most times the spark flares unexpectedly
From a clam conversation, leaving only smoky silence in its wake.
When talk of landscaping veers into the heat of accusations,
Of my aversion to yard work
And his neglect in picking up his dirty clothes,
Soundlessly, I retreat,
Hoping the untended embers will burn themselves out.
But as I toss, sleepless in the dark,
I pray the smoke detector's working,
And the batteries are still fresh enough
To avert the explosion and the damaging flood.
And as the churning in my stomach subsides,
I'm swept away on phoenix dreams.
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Dawn
Debate
By BubbaSlayer
My
alarm clock yelled and screamed at me,
Time to get out of bed!
My
pillow sighed, Oh please don’t leave,
So I gratefully dropped my head.
The
sun rose smiling, cajoling me,
Time to rise and shine!
My
blanket cried, I’ll be so cold!
So I left the light behind.
Catwork
By BubbaSlayer
Every
morning as I drag myself from sleep,
Lies
warmly ensconced in my sheets.
Yawns,
stretches, rearranges himself,
His
morning’s catwork done.
Dancing
With Dirt
By BubbaSlayer
Humming
and whirring and sucking up dirt,
A
vacuum cleaner doing its work.
Humming
and whistling and whirling around,
A
housewife imagines a night on the town.
True Colors
By BubbaSlayer
Dad,
Everyone who knows you swears you can't deny me,
So I ask myself why you still try.
What color are you?
What color am I?
What about green, the smell of money?
It's all think I need from you and all that you can give.
What about blue, the silence of sadness?
Losing your parents so young must have shattered your life.
Or would you be red, like the alcoholic eyes
That prevent you from seeing the truth?
OR would you be black, like your shots to my heart
Where I used to believe in myself.
If I said you were white, would you smugly reply,
"Your right, and damned proud of it, too"?
If I said you were purple, would you secretly smile
At the sound of the color I love?
No, you wouldn't know that it's my favorite,
And I don't pretend you'd care.
But what if I said you were gray?
Would you frown and say, "I'm not so old,"
Or could you guess that you're as hard and unforgiving as cement?
Would you say it's clear I can't make a simple decision?
You're right, and I have only you to thank.
I've learned how to play it safe when there's no clear answer.
Being wrong in the past meant death to my self-esteem.
Sometimes it seems I'm so much like you it scares me,
But early detection's the first step in finding the cure.
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