It was, perhaps it still is, popular to take aerial pictures
of farms, frame them, visit the relevant farms and try
to sell them. I had a suitcase full and walked from farm
to the farm I didn’t sell many and was tired when I came to
a small farm, so minor that it was not in my portfolio.
I was thirsty it was July but, I wore a suit with tie to look
businesslike. Knocked on the door it was opened by
a woman who looked affable – this was long ago these
days no one opens doors to strangers- I asked for some
water and she led me to a well lowered a bucket and up
came a pail full of the coolest nectar. We spoke, a widow
a tractor accident had killed him, and she was childless.
I felt a strong sexual pull towards her and could read in her
eyes she felt the same also, but I was too timid to act on it.
I thanked her warmly and left. Years later I read about her
had been married five times and poisoned all her husbands’.
It was easy to admire such a pleasant mirage,
Her tasteful arrangement of complimentary tones,
With forms chasing functions on comfortable fabric,
To be smoothed with businesslike fingers
In total awareness of having my full attention.
And when we rehearsed stage kisses
In that discrete corner of the ensemble room,
The performance was convincing, if insincere.
And though we did refresh ourselves with many an encore,
Her heart remained nestled safely behind the fourth wall,
From the self-conscious shelter of which
She bartered for a better way of life.
I could feel the cost of my investment being marked up.
It’s what they call a value added tax,
A slick embezzlement passed on to the consumer
To cover the cost of doing business.
In the end, she proved to be less reliable than death and taxes.
She resented the implication when I called it a vig,
But in the final act, what she required of me
Wasn’t nothing but the same damn thing.
Be not becalmed, but busy, buzzy, bustling;
bedazzling but not bedraggled;
beloved, bewitched but be not besotted.
Be bewitching, but not belittling nor besmirching.
Begin to be -
become, belong, befriend, beseech, beget
Bewilder, befuddle, bedazzle,
Make bequests - beguile, beseech, bestow, bequeath,
to belay fate bedeviled with
what is not to be.
Beyond the buzzing, hustle and bumbling
be businesslike, but not belligerent nor bossy
Be bespattered with pollen begotten in harvest.
businesslike and quick
shot forth to deliver papers
arms jogging left and right
a cup leaves its station
eyes travel upwards
coffee frozen mid air
eyes take elevator down
man in wet suit and tie
pin drops in aftermath
8/6/2018
BREAKFAST AT HOME
Familiar sounds from the kitchen -
Preparatory squeak of cupboard door,
Businesslike clank of pan on stove, water splashing from taps,
Promising chink of plates and cups, rattle of knives and forks,
Smell of tea brewing and flame-done toast,
Crackle of eggs frying, sizzle of bacon.
Memory of A Last Embrace
by Edmund Siejka
Wasn’t it only days ago
When she was beside me
Long brown hair
Brushing against my face
Whispering
Sighs and murmurs.
Summer brought
Hot days
And humid nights.
And then one day
She left me.
I found a note
Face down on the coffee table
It was brief
To the point
Almost businesslike
Saying a lot
And not saying anything at all.
I didn’t know what to do.
And so the story goes
The ocean is wide
The ocean is deep
True love
Never dies.
At quiet time
When I think of what happened
In my life
I remember
We were like one
Mornings together
Holding hands
No need to ask what we wanted
Did we even care
Back then?
In early light
She is sitting beside me
At the kitchen table
I stare at her face
Listen to her breathing
And realize
That I haven’t seen her in years.
The sun shines
Full force now
Shadows have moved
From the still warm coffee pot
And over the things that make up a kitchen
Another day is here
So my friends, I say no thanks
Who needs the memories?
Female Werewolf
It was, perhaps it still is, popular to take aerial pictures
of farms, frame them, visit the relevant farms and try
to sell them. I had a suitcase full and walked from farm
to the farm I didn’t sell many and was tired when I came to
a small farm, so minor that it was not in my portfolio.
I was thirsty it was July but, I wore a suit with tie to look
businesslike. Knocked on the door it was opened by
a woman who looked affable – this was long ago these
days no one opens doors to strangers- I asked for some
water and she led me to a well lowered a bucket and up
came a pail full of the coolest nectar. We spoke, a widow
a tractor accident had killed him, and she was childless.
I felt a strong sexual pull towards her and could read in her
eyes she felt the same also; but I was too timid to act on it.
I thanked her warmly and left. Years later I read about her
had been married five times and poisoned all her husbands’.
Block after block there is a man.
Outstretched hands
presenting a brown-stained
Starbucks cup.
Steadfast, I must look straight.
Businesslike gait
creating the illusion that
I have somewhere important to go.
A lie.
The air between me and the cup and the hands and the man
compresses in my brain.
Like the air in the cylinder of a diesel engine
right before spontaneous combustion.
My hands silence any loose change.
As I pass, glassy brown eyes ask “what’s up?”
A downdraft washes over me.
I can only respond “not much”
attempting to retract my arrogance.
Gunmetal blue buildings
glare down at me.
My hands remain in my pockets
still gripping the coins.
Cold to the touch.