I’ve been thinking a lot about Meesshooo and her name. Forget that I can’t even spell it. I’ve done her wrong. Making her all about me instead of the clipty-clop wondrous flying PONY girl. It’s anosmic. I mean how would I like to be called MEIN HOOF? First we went to the vet for her HOT SPOT. Then to the empty sequestered park for big dogs ONLY but they never came. I looked at the trees. The memorial placards. Just on the other side of the fence was a raucous party of toy circus dogs. With a gay dog named BUDDY driving the herds with his doggie penis nobody could stop sniffing. After a half hour I asked a lady with a small shivering Chihuahua Terrier, permission. If we might be invited over, would she mind? Or were we too big? We had a good long chat by the fence but she wouldn’t budge. Her dog had mental problems she explained. It came from a litter of 30.
This is Bomba the baby duck. Similar to Meschoo our pup that I procured after falling in love with the neighbors 2 ducks. Who like the neighbors dog I fell in love with, then disappeared suddenly into a cage, onto a plate, back to the cousins where they came from? Mahina the moon dog became a pig dog and was withdrawn to a grown up life and I as predicted after reading up on the subject. Gored. I don’t know if it was the David Crosby lyrics. “Love the one you are with.” Or that insight that taking drugs was like taking out a loan on your life and Crosby would know because he didn’t just say no to credit cards.
I slept through Mahina yelping, but John heard her and made me aware that he had seen her. He’s taken to sleeping in a tent since Sheree was here. Not far from the neighbors property line. John has always enjoyed public squabbles and usually about the grass. I’m against it. HE’S FOR IT. But back to Mahina. He wouldn’t admit to the visual of her bad eye. From 2 yards away I could see red. The half eyeball bloodshot and missing. Maybe the neighbors would finally let me have her. The neighbors who were miraculously disappeared probably to church. It was a weekend morning. How creepy of me RIGHT? to maintain a working knowledge of their schedules?
This baby duck BOMBA, I’ve tried to forget about giving him up to the promise of inseminating other ducks, the harem. Although I am happy to remember him smartening up about John and chasing him around the yard. I should have insisted we keep him. John used the word mean, that he got mean. Bomba fit into the bath tub in his youth, which wasn’t the most efficient or sanitary method of caring for a duck. None of the other ducks would play with him. He was segregated from the 100 others naturally. I realize this has not been exactly linear, but this isn’t a coliseum arch.
Nothing reminds us more of Mother’s Day, and a woman’s role – as the hole in history then the life of the Staint Thais.
A sensitive daughter. Orphaned by parents who died in tandem almost instantaneously. Fortunate to inherit money without the intercession of ancillary extended family. Or male foreign invaders. Her life was an exercise that the elders approved of, she never married and remained devoted to Christ and generosity. When pilgrims hiked past her estate they were invited to take shelter. If the poor were hungry she interceded. Unfortunately due to a failure in bookkeeping. She was suddenly without recompense and broke. The scriptures tell us she looked for secretarial work but lacked the strength and dexterity for cuneiform. She had become like all other women without money and an aversion to excessive housekeeping, job seeking and exposed. In those days the only fair wage was prostitution.
When the Elder’s of Sketis learned of her transformation and courtesan ways they sent St John the Dwarf to fetch her. But he was rejected. His entry was barred. The Dwarf St John employed cunning and trickery, “Tell the mistress I have something precious for her.” Like what dickhead she might have wondered? But Thais had a weakness for shiny pearls and suspected the Elders might have a gift remembering the good in her. John the liar Dwarf was ushered in to see Thais and began weeping. “How can I not weep,” he asked, “when you have forsaken your Bridegroom, the Lord Jesus Christ, and are pleasing Satan by your deeds?” She accepted his offer, a sentence of 3 years hard labor. 15 days after her release she died. Now they call her Saint.
they just called #9
before the nurse
swab my ankle
where my crocs
rubbed a blister
plenty of yolk ~
to insure minimal
with staff who
chatter that might
lull me to sleep
if I were at the beach
Bess wore black sheer silk stockings with rear seams to temple. Glossy red lipstick, a full length sable coat, and stilettos to according to one source, unabashedly flirt with the cantor. The rabbi hated her as well and she didn’t know this. In Haddasa she was a cappo and organizer. To raise money she culled together the best of the congregation’s recipes for a cookbook. Including her own poppy seed coffee cake and ambrosia. She explained her philosphy that I know now was very much old testament & scholarly. That to believe in G-D was to abstain from revenge or raising a finger against one’s enemies.