Top Hat Eulogy

The Top Hat Eulogy

I woke up and looked outside-
my grandfather stood in the garden
in the form form of Yoda
surrounded by a force field

I opened the doors
the roses were full
and pungent
and made me breathe in fistfuls

I knew that was my Papa
as he wore the familiar collapsible black top hat
the one with his initials inside

The day was pallidly overcast
but a great light shone upon him
and his voice kept repeating

“Shalom Aleichem – Hare Krishna”.

And when he spoke
golden nuggets would drop from his lips
as people hurried by and grabbed them

The masses left Mardi Gras beads at his feet
while he blessed them using galvanized quatrains
and the “sick among them were healed” —
one man in a wheelchair was given an
application for Dancing With The Stars
the hordes looking stunned as he jumped up
and did a Saint Vitus dance off

So I asked a passing titmouse-
“What does my grandfather say?”
And his tuft relaxed as he chirped
“he gives them great hope”

And I wanted this hope and to speak
to my Papa
who has been silently absent
for almost twenty years
so I slowly took my place in the back of the line
hoping he would recognize me
hoping to touch his hand once more
to smell Old Spice and see his smile
but the line kept growing
and people kept cutting in
and I could not progress forward

I ran
and ran
to the front of the crowd
and pushed my way through
but all that sat there was the top hat
atop golden nuggets
and everyone grabbed the nuggets
and I took the top hat and bushed it off
and hugged it as a voice
I recognized as my Papa’s
came from inside the hat—
“my darling, this is why you will never be rich,
the others go for the gold and
you stand behind and hold an old, useless hat”
the hat burst into flames
but did not burn me –
it grew wings and flew off into a blackened night

I watched the flaming hat circle the lake
then passed over the crescent moon
where it perched at the lowest moon tip
illuminating the sky

The small titmouse came by and landed on my shoulder
pointing a wing toward the door
“you must close your eyes, spit three times and run backwards for ten feet” it said
and I did
but when I opened my eyes I was back under my electric blanket
while the sun rudely woke me by casting laser beams
into my face —
I got up to feed the cats and the birds
and when I went outside
the garden was empty

the flowers looked sad
the rose petals had all fallen off
leaving bald and bent stems-
No Papa –
no golden nuggets

when I heard a titmouse singing from
the grapefruit tree
“gulliblegulliblegullible” it chirped-
I threw a rotten grapefruit at it
and the bird flew overhead
leaving a white sticky calling card
dripping off my shoulder

The answer had been revealed
go for the gold
I thought to myself over and over
wondering how to do that
and all that ‘over’ made me overload
and over tire
and over think

I reached for my Papa’s top hat in the closet
and climbed back into bed
under the electric blanket
Putting the hat upon my head

When I woke again
the hat was on the floor
screaming obscenities like a mean drunk –
it struggled to right itself
like flailing turtle upside down on its’ shell

And that was where I left it screaming
as I started my quest for the gold
beginning at the refrigerator
opening the door rather timidly asking
in a voice rather unlike my own
that came out kind of ‘Brooklyn-esqe’
did it know where the ‘gould’ was

there was a profound silence–
the milk soured
the cheese curdled
and a bottle of Guldens mustard popped off the shelf
and wrote my eulogy in dirty yellow…

Fight For Freedom / Fish Talk

photo by Abbe

Fight For Freedom

After Witnessing a scene with birds flying and fish swimming,
Mao Tse-Tung noted in his beautiful 1953 poem Changsha,
“all creatures fight for freedom.”

A fish in grayish scaly dress
follows my line
a bite and it has submitted its’ will to me

Inside the bait bucket
it swims riotously
banging its’ nose into the sides
flinging itself upward again and again
trying to defy this clandestined plastic gravity
trying to lift itself beyond the resin walls

TodayI am God –
it’s life is mine
I can choose to free this fish
or
use it for bait
maybe feed it to the heron
who paces suspiciously to my left

I think of Mao Tse-Tung’s observation
and my God-thought is to let the fish go
let its’ nightmare of captivity subside
let it grow into a tougher, worthy opponent
and breed that trait into the eggs of others

My God-hands tip over the bucket on land
to grant it the wish of long fish life
to go forth and be free once again to swim at will
free to be back in it’s liquid land
and the moment I reach down
my cat snatches the fish
and runs away with a portable meal
this lessor feline demi-god has interceded fate
has tampered with mans’ free will

Mao was right
freedom IS so fleeting
in the snap of a few seconds
freedom is abandoned
to the decisions of a higher power
a higher power-
a cruel cat on stealthy toes..

.
Abbe   

Square Peg Mole Hole Interview

Square Peg Mole Hole Interview

“If I can dream that I dream / and dream anything dreamable / can I dream I am awake ? and why do that… Ginsberg

I sat down in the white room
with only two black chairs;

“What is it you would like to do for employment?”
Asked the Displaced Housewife Counselor

“Interpret dreams,” I said.

“Lofty goal,”
she replied with scathing sarcasm.

“Yes, I want to know why last night I dreamt I was in
a beautiful museum shaping mashed potatoes into
the bust of Copernicus and why there was red jello
in the lake with a cow headed turtle doing the back stroke
carrying a cheese knife?”

“I’m sorry, we don’t give grants for fortune tellers —
nor lunatics,” her left foot tapping hard, or was that a hoof?

“But I must know what these abstract dreams mean –
they startle me all night.”

She looked at me behind eyes full of vaseline,
“any other interests of career potential?”

“A poet”, I said, “I have always wanted to be one.”

“Sorry she yawned, “we have no grants for poet wannabees,
unless of course you are published.

“No, she’s not”, my voice did not come from me,
but from a mouse dressed in a tuxedo
scurrying into a hole in the women’s shoe.

“Then you don’t qualify, silly girl.” She thrust her forearm
on her knee and there was a heavy sundial taped to her wrist.

“How about crafts? I love making collages.”

“So do school children, that’s not a life skill,” she scolded.

“How much time do I have left?” I pondered

“Not enough! You better find what you want to do
with your life. I’m afraid there is no place you fit into
except in your own dreams.”

“I know, that’s the problem, that’s why I am here.
I am a square peg in a mole hole.” I told her.

“You mean round peg, square hole,” she corrected.

“See what I mean? I can’t even fit into the right cliche.”

“Yes, you are truly displaced my dear. So displaced I cannot
place you. Your non-conformity voids you from any reality
based employment program we offer. I suggest you would be
better served to see a spiritualist in Cassadaga and let them conjure
up your future. Perhaps Louis Carroll is the only spirit who might
understand and empathize with your dilemma, but he only liked
little girls, so I suppose he won’t be of much help.” She rose from the
chair with cobwebs attached to her back and unscrewed her head
then folded it neatly into her purse. “I can no longer think about you,”
she said in a muffled voice through plaid canvas, “I must rest my brain,
the very thought of you and this conversation is making my neurons
fire in gobules of pink hummus. I must shut down
I must shut down
I must shut down or
I will go crackers.” The counselor broke off her leg and used it as a paddle
to swim her headless form across the lake of red jello,
halfway across she filled with water
and her leg floated away.

My mouth remained open while the cow headed turtle
offered me moldy swiss cheese and said, “you really should wake
up now,” It’s black tongue licked it’s right ear. “This interview has
commenced and you are sleeping through life. The turtle removed
it’s carapace and put the moldy cheese inside a small cavity next to
its’ heart. When opened, a great throbbing light came through parted
windows causing me to squint and open my eyes. I looked about the
room and saw it was time to wake and meet with the woman
assigned to help displaced Housewives.
Oh,  why could I not find a job getting paid to tell people my dreams?
Why was life so structured with rules and infractions?

I walked to the closet and looked for my shoes,
they sat quietly and did not object as I slipped them on,
they knew we had a purpose.
When I stood up I heard the hinge of a distant door closing,
I looked around,
and there next to my left shoe
was the mouse in the tuxedo smiling.
He held up crossed fingers,
threw a square peg over his shoulder
and cantered away on a horse hoof.
My shoes looked at me,
I looked at them
and the three of us burst out laughing …