How it glistens in the candles’ glow,
the star of every luncheon plate.
Who is it who could ever say no
to the salad dealt to her by fate?
With mayonnaise from a crystal dish
too elegant to contemplate–
the flavors of lime and tuna fish
meet at last, in quivering embrace.
What more could any hostess wish
than to see such joy on every face?
For NaPoWriMo, Day 15.
Now I am a sandwich loaf
frosted in cream cheese,
with mushrooms and small
tiles of ham. Now I am the
ham, or else I’m still the pig,
caged and oblivious. Now
I am a duck among thousands
starving on the lake ice, or
one of hundreds fishing
in the river water. Now I
am the fish, swimming in
the river or lying on a platter,
a new face drawn over my
old face, in cream cheese
or mayonnaise. Now I am
lighting the candles. Now I
wait for my guests. I will
serve them what I have,
what I was, what I am.
Captain Stubing awakes on the deck of a cruise ship.
How did he get here? What has he become?
Guest star Charo eats some bad salmon, is forced
into close quarters with Doc Bricker. ¡Ay, dios mio!
Hour-long closeup of Isaac, staring into
the middle distance while wiping a martini glass.
Vicki wonders what life is all about.
Ah, well. Time to hit the disco.
Certain promises are made
by guest star Betty White.
Julie, having no other activity ideas, directs
the passengers—including guest star Charo—
in a production of No Exit on the Lido Deck.
Some ugly lady and some ugly dude almost break up,
but then they look up at the stars together and decide
that’s a whole lot of empty space up there.
Gopher. We haven’t seen much of him yet.
He’s been living deep in the ship’s hold,
lining his nest with cast-off cocktail dresses.
Chlamydia sweeps through the Pacific Princess.
No one is spared. (You knew this was coming.)
Guest star Art Carney, clearly confused, keeps
delivering lines to some imaginary waitress character
named Alice. The regular cast rolls with it.
What is this all about? Nobody knows anymore.
The ship runs aground, and this bunch
must somehow form a family.
Various things are made from coconuts.
I suppose you could call it that.
A version of love, sure.
Two people die while dismantling the Princess,
overcome, at last, by her toxic gases.
If it’s Tuesday p.m., check out Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. Today’s PAD Challenge prompt: Love poem/anti-love poem. (I think this is the latter.)
hard-boiled eggs
Bury the eyes, always,
that they may not witness
this turbulent mystery.
green olives
With pimento pupils,
they stand sentry, to repel
untoward advances.
orange slices
From what grove,
and how came they here?
They must be wondering.
ground beef (?)
Structural putty.
Muscle memory retains
the shape of the pan.
canned peas
From every crevice
springs
a mockery of freshness.
tomato slice
Countersunk
against
indifference.
mint
A jaunty sail,
a hint of life
other than this.
If you’re on Facebook, here’s the photo that inspired this poem. See more from the Kitsch Bitsch here. Yummy! Also, if it’s Tuesday p.m., it’s Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. June 11 marks its 100th weekly session.
Let Memory Be a Paneled Room
Let us now be gracious
and thank our humble homes.
From shag carpet we arose;
the ugly couch was always
more comfortable before
it was reupholstered,
made more acceptable
to our changing eyes. Let us
now love Linoleum, warm
underfoot, forgiving of stains,
those accidents of carelessness
and time. How the years passed.
Let memory be a paneled room
with heavy curtains. Let it keep
every word we ever spoke.
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 