In Memoriam

There's the two guys whose fists collided over a girl,

and there's those students who squabbled for a week on

end over a story.

I don't think my professor quite realized

the ramifications of signing me up for this class,

let alone taking me on this field trip.

I wish I could be remembered for a Trojan war

even if it left the cities in my hair in ruins.

I wish I could live on as the essay the professor

shows off every year.

Instead, I am the girl

who will be immortalized in laughing stories,

as the one who dropped the gum out of her mouth,

down on the pristine floor of a Willamette chapel,

during a poetry reading.

Dear Lucy

I apologize for the delay of this reply. It seems this year, it's a bit harder to spread the Christmas cheer. You see Lucy, it's only people like you who keep the spirit of the season going. What, with all the wars, diseases, and grumbling complaints, it's a wonder that people smile on Christmas day anymore than the other 364 days in a year.

I'm afraid I need your help, Lucy. According to news reporters, a notoriously bad person sneaked into my toy shop. He then proceeded to pretend to be me, and nearly answered a letter to a girl much like yourself. Thankfully, we caught him before he could send the letter out. Unfortunately, many people have overreacted to this bad situation, and made it even more tragic. Now the post office won't deliver the letters to the North Pole.

Lucy, I need you to continue doing nice things instead of naughty things. I need you to be cheerful year round, but especially when it's close to Christmas. Maybe then people will regain some hope in the human race, and I can recieve your letters and answer them more easily. We can only hope.

Faithfully yours,

Santa.

Earthly Muse

Homer had his demigods,

Milton and Dante their heavenly muse,

but my muse is bound to this earth.

She prefers chocolate to nectar,

perfume to incense,

guitar riffs to hymns

and comic books to epic poetry.

Now if only my earthly muse

would learn to throw wisps of cloud

rather than sharp rocks.

My mind can't handle much more abuse.

Meaning

Like a surrealist painting;

She's nothing,

but she looks so pretty.

Clocks melt when she walks by,

and male brains turn into apples.

But when she's gone,

they revert to normal,

like the room lacking a man with a newspaper.

Paying Dues

Dear Camelback High School Librarian,

Enclosed in this package is two long overdue books. Hopefully those poor bird-watchers didn't miss them. It's too bad that I packed them away before I could use them for my report. To this day, I'm still not sure if my teacher noticed or not when I gave my presentation in class.

I'm pretty sure though, if she's still around, that Ms. Whatever-Her-Name-Was has an exact count of how many days of my two cents that I owe. Hopefully this check covers it all (knowing her, the rates may have changed.) May that likely retired librarian sleep peacefully at night from now on. If she hasn't retired, allow me to apologize to any students under her jurisdiction.

Yours Truly,

A student from the class of '58

To Sand We Shall Return

We marched for Cambyses;

We marched to the oracle;

We marched to take her down;

We marched to cast her into the sand;

We marched to bury her body  in the sand,

to the place we would all return.

_________________

We marched for Cambyses;

We marched for the son of Cyrus;

We marched for the King of Persia;

We marched to make him and his advisors proud;

We marched to be remembered above all Persian armies;

We marched to be remembered beyond the sand,

the place we would soon return.

______________

We marched to be lost;

We marched to be found;

We marched to leave arrowheads and silver bracelets;

We marched to leave a thousand skulls grinning at the sky;

We marched into the sand;

We marched into the sand,

and to sand we returned.

Forgetting Him.

The restraining order has been sitting in my wallet so long, I think the two of them have melded together. I should burn it. He's dead. That man can't come near me once they've locked him in his casket.

I should frame it. Any time I should begin to forget what he did, I'll glance up and see it through the glass. Even when the children ask me questions, I'll be able to tell them the truth. Even when I begin to go soft, he can't hurt me again.

Perhaps I should file it away, and try to forget it ever happened. This way no one else would ever forget, but I could, at least for a little while.

Displacement.

I left the vestiges of my thoughts on the branches of the trees,

Some of my memories linger on the gold and ruby leaves.

Though my feet stand still on concrete floors,

My mind wanders through emerald greens.

My nose breathes in the air within this cramped room,

but I only smell the crisp air in the fields.

I turn my head, and I swear I feel the autumn wind

stirring the ends.

Soon my body will be reunited with my mind,

Soon.

Friendly Neighborhood Cook Out

Honestly, I thought he only needed air-freshener. I never realized that he needed a sentence, a watch, several prison bars, and a trip to court, let alone a trial. It came as a shock to the whole neighborhood when the cops showed up on the street, sirens blaring and lights flashing.

Mind you, our street has seen better days. Way back when, people came here to retire, to own homes for the first time, not to lose their lives. Our neighbor didn't cause us no trouble, before, at least. We thought nothing of it when he invited us over for a barbecue.

Sure, the smell messed with our appetites, but we thought he was just a bad cook.

We thought she had just left on vacation. No, none of us have seen the body. But we know it smells like sausage.