The Tiger Lily is gently removed from the lounge
so it wont ever come in contact with the cats fur
My visitor asks for Steppenwolf on the player
The song "Tenderness" has reticence
Its hard to know if we are romantically involved
having never kissed
Perhaps we share too much intelligence on one another
the quiet detective work overplayed !
We agree the floorboards creak
they may need replacing
She inquires if the boiler needs replacing too
I was about to check out a new detective drama
and paused
however briefly
when I noticed a consumer warning
"Sexual Situations"
Which I find confusing.
Everyday
as long as I continue to wake up
however partially
I am not gender impartial
I awake into my
Sexual Situation
I live in a sexual body
with a neuro-sensory communicating
communing pheromonic mind
filled with multigenerational memories
and multicultural images
Whether conscious or not,
if you can read
and understand this,
and even if you couldn't,
you too live
in a sexual situation
among a sexual species.
So, I'm wondering
when will I read a consumer warning
"No Sexual Situations"
No drama
No detective work
or play
No plot
No sensory interest
Better off
to go take a wild
wet
warm
dreamy
creamy nap
Than be the sap
who legislates
no social communication benefits
from speaking compassionately together
about our diverse sexual situations.
They all knew what happened, six were speaking at the same time.
I separated them out and told them to make sense and please rhyme.
One quit, unsure what I meant. My dividing skills were heaven-sent.
Please give me the facts, on the tracks, with the pacts of some sacks.
She did not understand, so I said it louder, I mean really loud.
By now we had acquired a rather large, obnoxious hillbilly crowd.
Who kilt Billy Bob Henry Lee Major Fay? An old-faced hag said.
Until she spoke, I had forgotten we were next to something dead.
Turned to me. Come on detective, what do you have to tell us?
This was from a cousin of Billy Bob Henry. His name is Catchy Willis.
I’m getting the statements, I said. It’s going to take some time.
This took me away from my lessons to teach these people to rhyme.
Detective awards,
several cold cases solved,
missed socks have me floored.
3-25-17
RADIO VOICES
Thirty-three and a half minutes listening to the static;
I'm one big ear! hoping to hear a message
from the other side...
Beethoven has an unfinished symphony he wants completed,
Arthur Conan Doyle complains fiction today is all detective work,
Joan of Arc loves Mel Brooks.
Thirty-four and a half minutes and my patience snaps;
I turn to RTE, the writer Derek Mahon
Is being discussed by a panel.
They've detected importance in his poem
'A Disused Shed in Co. Wexford'.
Mushrooms decaying in the dark,
Holy Joes adrift in a Godless cellar,
Sweethearts who've missed the boat,
Bollards moored in misery,
Death-pale and ghostly.
I would store this poem in a cool dark place
and only bring it out into the light of day
for a bookish friend, a literature hound;
it merits close inspection.
What do you see
When you open your ears and hear
The smell of death
Descending upon the valley
Quickly and methodically
Choosing words to fit
The description
While the sketch artist
Chokes them down with a
Lime juice chaser.
Upon completion,
You see a mirror on the desk
And marvel at your own eyes
Gazing intently at your own
Eyes.
Confusion.
How does one project themselves?
Only I recognize me.
I giggle at the self-loathing,
And the pathetic detective work.