Long Inez Poems
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If I was hungry I would devour that creepy thing I think.
It is something tasty that crawled out of my sink
You don’t even know what it is my friend says.
She is persnickety and picky, my pal Inez.
Look at its legs, I reply. They look tickly tasty.
Not so fast! Says the crawler. Let’s not be hasty!
Inez says “I never eat food that speaks to me.”
“I will make an exception,” I say, “That thing is free.”
Inez is not as choosy as I thought that she was.
I begin bathing the sink creature, fluffing his fuzz.
"Wait!" the crawly thing says. “That brush is too short for me!”
The second I stop, he scuttles down the drain to flee.
Do not be an asp!
I say to my husband.
Putting him immediately into argument-ive mode.
Asp, I said Asp I shriek with glee
As he heads toward me
With a super angry face, to dismount and unload.
He stops at the couch.
Asp like a venomous snake? He asks me.
Yes, like a wonderful, Cleopatra-like, wonderful cobra, see?
And just how is that better? He asks me, in a dangerous way.
“Asps are handsome, determined, eager-to-please,” I happily say.
We both know I’m making this up on the fly.
We almost laugh when we catch each other’s eye.
He smiles. You’re an asp, he says.
Yes, I am, but not as much as Inez.
Submitted on 4-30-2018
Contest: ASP by Anthony Slausen
AntiPoem 31 “Rita Montero”
(Poet’s instruction: Kindly play “Ay, Mama Inez”
by Rita Montero while reading this AntiPoem)
a red trolley finds Ebbets Field behind a pigtown ditch
significant hotdogs and burnt singles melt into the pitch
Jackie Robinson squares off with an ash tree riding the sky
the flag of our fathers dancing in center field poised to fly
“honey, I hope you like these seats here in the bleachers
you can see Bedford on the phone looking for preachers
an endless parade of white-walled tires scurrying on by
can you smell the Nathan’s dogs downstairs on hot rye
let us hurry hence dear, before this inning comes to an end
and our Jackie Robinson comes barreling up to bat again”
“Una mujer negra se asoma en el teatro de Buenos Aires”
Argentine goddess with roots in the dark seeping prairies
musically squeezes the brass ring as the black cloud dries
“Rita Montero, you are as lovely as your sweet empanada pies
your wonderful sidewalks through gardens of lapacho trumpets
please come sit with me here, to talk and to eat these crumpets
to speak of your forever glissandos and sad asado whispers
your electric shadows finding humble graces at vespers
retrieving lost spaces from opera teachers and stupid men
to step forward again with singing eyes and a ballpoint pen
Rompiste la puerta blanca maloliente!”
please Rita meet me in Córdoba next wednesday”
she sits in her bleacher seat with a Nathan’s dog on hot rye
“honey, I hope we can see Jackie Robinson hit a deep fly
high up into the airy Brooklyn blue arching yet over Bedford
the democrats in section seven will applaud the proud leopard
Rita Montero, I can see her in the grandstand behind Shotton
she is giving absolution for all the skin sins now long forgotten
let us hurry hence dear, before this inning comes to an end
and our Jackie Robinson comes barreling up to bat again”
No matter what story we have to tell
Including stories about sometimes landing in hell
One-Up Martha can easily one up it and does with glee
Her friends are slim, maybe non-existent if you ask me.
Why does she always do that? Another friend says.
She needs the extra attention says my Aunt Inez.
But it’s so annoying! I can hardly stand her at all.
Maybe that’s why she has no friends, says Paul.
I decide to try again, so I give Martha another chance.
“I know how to ballet, waltz, and watusi,” she says when I tell her I dance.
“Been diagnosed with six ailments,” she throws in two.
I finally give up trying after she one-ups me six times, wouldn’t you?
Shhhhh
there she is
on computer no. 2
the one i come here to see
if by chance she's here
the one in the green dress
and black spiked boots!
now she's a lady
lady like in all her ways
why is that guy in the black jacket
blocking my view
what site is she on
does she know about the soup
i wonder if my name
will ring a bell
john loving iii
yes that's me
maybe we can share a soda sometime
give me your number
and i'll give you mine
who am i fooling
she's probably got a hulky boyfriend
somewhere working out in the gym
right now
and she's leaving now to pick him up
why god? why not me?
why do i have a girl i like every where
i go; at my age?
did she really make me forget
sharon, april, tonie, judy, inez
tiffany,and the whole host of women
that i don't even know their names?
all of a sudden
i was there; our world
her's and mine
can i bump into her and meet her?
or just over come my shyness
and try being someone i'm not
or should i just keep on having
this obsesion every time i come
to the library and she's there?
to ask God?
the question is rhetorical
i feel like woody allen
in a mell gibson film
i'm just suppose to step aside
then remembering the phrase
"It is better to have loved and lost..."
oh yeah, that's right love hurts
be happy with the way things are now
Form:
Musing with Caren Krutsinger’s musings. I love
our dear poet’s imagination. Thank you, Caren
for allowing me to use your poem and a few phrases
from your poem. Used poem by permission.
My Food Flees from Me
Caren,
A creepy thing I would devour
But wait, wait, wait…
not fuzzy wuzzy in the drain;
are you insane?!
Tickly tasty, i won’t wasty,
wiggles and waggles -
the hashtag “what am i thinking?!”
I watch it move - stomach’s sinking.
My food flees from me…that might be
just what i need!
Don’t be hasty - tastes like cookie?
My brain reacts like a rookie.
Cookie doesn’t slide nor slither
on my pink tongue.
I’m persnickety and picky,
quite realize this snack is icky.
Though your friendship i encourage,
i’ve no courage
for bugs that bathe in the sink
or crawl on the floor. I need shrink!
No! No! No bugs at all, my friend.
My skin’s crawling,
as i’m spitting out the thought.
I’ll eat good things, as i’ve been taught.
4/28/2023
Find Your PS Muse
Sponsor: Margarita Lillico
Not as Picky as I Thought She Was
If I was hungry I would devour that creepy thing I think.
It is something tasty that crawled out of my sink
You don’t even know what it is my friend says.
She is persnickety and picky, my pal Inez.
Look at its legs, I reply. They look tickly tasty.
Not so fast! Says the crawler. Let’s not be hasty!
Inez says “I never eat food that speaks to me.”
“I will make an exception,” I say, “That thing is free.”
Inez is not as choosy as I thought that she was.
I begin bathing the sink creature, fluffing his fuzz.
"Wait!" the crawly thing says. “That brush is too short for me!”
The second I stop, he scuttles down the drain to flee.
Caren Krutsinger