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Another day in dreamland

Wake up.  Watch the sun ease in the light
like the day before, goin back, and on some more.
Cuddle with the reasons why while I collect
my unconscious back from the sky.
Okay, get up.  Go!  Gotta go.
Trip over some ratty old backpack.
Baby, what is this nasty old thing doin here?
What is this sentimental threadbare, nuisance?
Can we lose this ratty…look at these dopey patches,
fat Elvis in a Union Jack jumpsuit, laurel thorn crown…
Baby makes me wait until she is done with languid and stretchy.
And of course, then Zoomie has to get some, squeals too.
“What?
   Mmmmmhhhmmmm….
      What are you talking about?”
            Unh….talkin bout... unh, umm, my dream…I remember now!
Last night God kissed me!  Yeah!  Like that!
As I slept God leaned in close, breathed into my ear:
   “Love you best of all.
      Not for what you do
         but for who you are.”
I thought it was just a dream
but look at what’s in my bed this morning!

I need some caffeine and some sourdough.
I get in my Ford.  Henry Ford himself built it
Except it’s a big, fine Cadilac.  I mean ’67 GTO with 8-track
Oh!  Wait!  It’s a Mazda.  Where’d this huge iced tea/coke thing
Come from?  Oh no it’s gone!  What?!
That was a lifetime ago I ordered that.
Ah well, no one’s dead and I’m awake at last.
Oh, boy this is gonna be bad, pretty sure of that.
In fact, there are three little kids dead.
Not just dead, burned in a fire dead.
“Let us apply our Wit and Imagination”, zoom in shall we?
Oh!  Fuc…turn on the radio, there’s no need to be there yet.
“Choice.  It’s a matter of choice.  You can choose to see
the intrinsic beauty of nature and apply yourself to revealed truth
or hire some absurd topiary artist’’
Hit the button, Nevermind.
Later:
I’m gonna have to take this house down to the studs.
It’s a flash fire but that burnt, sooty scent ain’t comin out
     no matter how many scrubbings or ozone treatments
“Now, I know this is hard for you ma’am but
     in the room where your kids were found, unh, lived
You are gonna have to list on this paper here, unh, damaged contents
     underwear, t-shirts, shoes, socks, dresses, scrungies, toys, binkeys, pictures
How much it would cost to replace those things.  At today’s prices, with tax incl.”
     It goes on for a very long time, her silence
She can’t let go of the old time, double hung
floor to ceiling windows; that thin, fragile, ground floor
to ceiling glass which won’t require reglazing, just cleaning and paint.
I can’t let go of Professor Puffy’s advice:
     Tell her no big
     They’da never been great no how.
     Yo!  Wake up and get paid.
     Fill out the form, babe.
I think when you’re dead you don’t ever hear 
that voice anymore.  At least, I hope

Later, suddenly, I’m an old lady with big, baggy eyes and frizzy hair
My Valentine slouches over his pooch high wrapped in a polyester blend,
wiggles his eyebrows at me over sips of soup.
A glass of wine and I am the cat’s meow in my fur.
The little boy toddling by makes me smile.  I wave.
He waves, a new found trick.  Waves around the corner and goodbye.
I feel great.  Like part of some great secret that everybody knows and passes on.
And then Zoomie wants picked up.  It’s too long a walk to the car.
“I gotcha.  Up we go!  Home!  Wanna go home?”
Zoomie is all for that.  Me too.
We drive home real slow with the windows down.
     An ocean of soft cinnamon scented air swirls around us.
Soon we tumble into the arms of each other dreaming;
     very soon now, just as we’ve done all day.
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