Of Carrots, Peas, and Other Graces

September 14th, 2010 Leave a comment Go to comments

by Keith Dugger

Mashed peas flopped in a bowl. Green carrot top tossed in a hole. Teeth, wires, and explosion of sound. Unattended.

Wilted flowers, a tulip or three, relax. Drip lazy petals. Drink from half empty vase on the corner table.

Flickering light overhead. Camera-flash blink. Sorrow to the shadows playing alone at the edges; under the table, behind a cabinet door frosted. Stacks of cluttered mess. Nestled away and tucked away hiding there. Dishes from days of dining and cork abuse. A mess, a pile of desire swimming under the drop, drop, drop. Leaky.

Refrigerator light is on.

A mumbling aggregation of vocal dangers stream from another place crackling. Lost connection to the outside world; lost without the delay of signals from its master. Part news, part shock, all money; all ratings. Smells funny.

Blinking red, tiny and rhythmic, off-timed with the florescent visual cues from the single tube hanging alone, a soulful, lonely spider, bathing the room in light, hiding the secret message awaiting an audience. Never heard, always there, always waiting.

Off-hook, curling cord, a tail from yesterday, aged antiquation, soft rotation. New position. Random fall, smashed wall.

Draping organics, manmade, soft. Slip cover out of place. Ashes and trays and coffee and cups horizontally skewed. Puddles, cold. History played, dead ice cubes remain.

Crooked frames, suspended faces, looking cross-eyed in disgrace. Longing stares across empty stares.

I am.

Lost.

Baseball, volleyball, sound storm, crack. Jagged lines, crack. Damage done. Laughing, crying, running, hiding, someone’s knocking.

Back door open. Back gate swinging. Creak.

Party’s done. Everyone’s gone.

“Cleanup, aisle three, seven and nine. Cleanup, aisle three, seven, and nine.”

Wilshire Place, number 379. Duplex ‘A’. Rainbow records spinning, begging to save each soul. Abbey’s on the shelf wanting to be heard. Berry red. Forever fielded.

Heartbreak. Headache, a passing vibe. Liberation, libation. Carry on, trudge through this day.

Grace, grace, grace, each morning. Lace, lace, lace, torn and ripped at the corner. Silver, china, crystal playing a chord in four-four time. Slip away, slip away.

Single hello, fourteen goodbyes carrying tones of his and her. Paper bags, velvet bags glass and plastic. Smoke and mirrors. Tiny money rolls.

Hello fidelity, nice to meet you. Carry it high. Channels ‘A’ and ‘B’, carry it high. Trembling bass, fornicating treble, liquid mids. Stream, stream flush.

Goodbye stability. In is in.

Cross-country worry. Cross-town hurry. Wait in line.

County free, no fee here. Pleasurable night, free ride. After-pain is on the house.

Needles and tubes. Flame on. Musical spoons.

STD for one. To go please.

  1. September 3rd, 2010 at 14:43 | #1

    Nicely done, Keith. A day, a week, a lifetime gone by.

  1. September 3rd, 2010 at 19:24 | #1