Cloaked in an autumn sky
I screamed at the heavens,
‘when will my angel rescue me?’
A reply, ‘you are the angel’
photo from: https://www.facebook.com/IAmStuckInArtAndBeauty
Walking, at the end of summer
through a quiet village,
like any other,
with talking windows,
cars slowly pass a homely church,
making the sign of a cross,
I stop outside
in blue skies
swarms of crows encircle me,
sending chills throughout my spine,
Blessed Mother Mary hovers ominously
over deafening echoes of aging souls
pleading forgiveness of misspent youths,
in the face of impending ends,
a glint of forgiveness,
eases aching consciences.
A single strand of lavender,
devotedly, blowing in a stone garden,
built for harmony, maintained by distrust.
Full of doves, that cannot fly,
when I visit, I remember goodbyes,
tears that would not come,
irrational conversations, created by a loss
shocked into solitude, mysteriously forgetting
life before the garden.
As anonymous as a peaceful mob
the garden has no dust
because pain never settles.
In an excursionist town
could have been any town
but let’s say it was Jackson Hole
I vocalised a hope
the night would never end
‘It’s not over until the fat lady sings’ I said
but she did sing
a lady sang
an opera I didn’t know
but I knew her song was the finale of my youth
a faceless, bodiless voice
predicted my evolution
from colourless alien lights
an angel sang
I laughed at my magic
I miss that night
Like an awkward coyote trying to read
a map, taunted by crows jeering from the gallery,
panic, if only I brought the right map.
My skin burns through disparaging shivers
of humiliation, self-loathing and embarrassing
premonitions of the price I have to pay.
Life sucked out of me by a swarm
of blood sucking mosquitoes left an itchy bag of bones,
how can I forget disparaging memories?
Muted by everything I wanted to say,
emotional fires burn out in the smouldering
Born at two o’clock, on Route 66, it was spilling.
First crime delivered; no one to celebrate my heir.
Stuck in a two bit tourist town;
I promised a life away from here.
Where opportunities afforded to affluent would be his;
Never occurred to me the criteria for that was being aristocrat.
Dusty streets, littered with middle aged men; playing dress up,
In motorcycle leather, exploring,
Another, suburban crisis.
The moment I saw him; I committed to a new way,
Two hundred in my pocket; I bought a ticket to Los Angeles,
City of Angels.
My newborn whimpered, in the heat;
An idiot in a Roswell shirt asked me if I ever saw an alien;
‘I’m looking at a clone of one.’
My boobs like balloons, filled with cement;
Abandoned my bra in the bathroom stall.
I filled the air, with sour milk and sweat;
Put water on my newborns head.
Bought a copy of ‘Arizona Daily Star’ cost a dollar eighty nine;
Covered, my infant son, from dazzling sunrain.
Front page news; two teens sentenced for killing a family;
Disintegrated, in the rain.
Stepping on the train; I wished I erased my name and number,
From the bathroom wall in that Irish Bar; his father put it there.
No air conditioning on the train;
Orthodox Jews across from me.
I exposed my breast; to feed my child;
They looked at me in disgust.
My tongue snuck through my lips, wiggled, while I hissed with the vengeance of a startled rattle snake.
They whispered ‘drug addict,’
The little girl behind them shouted, ‘I want to see the dragon too.’
Rolled in to Union Station, two am;
The security guard moved us on.
I walked until I saw a man with a martini glass;
I asked him if he knew of a motel.
I have a hotel, forty dollars a night we have Playboy and HBO;
He put the martini in the ashtray, drove oblivious to stop signs, traffic lights, pedestrians but the drink never spilled a drop.
Finally, we arrived;
He had a mail order bride.
Walked to the room; eyes balls jumped at us through the windows;
Sheets were rented,
There was no bible,
I held my baby.
Wondering, could I rewind time?
Call a do over.
Be one of those soccer moms; with a make-over.
The sun rose;
I begged the bride to give me a job, cleaning the brothel.
Reluctantly, martini drinker agreed.
Every night I watched; the suburban mom’s sacrifice, one by one,
No man heard, ‘not tonight, honey.’
I feared the urban symphony;
Of fallen needles, sirens, prostitute whistles, gun shots.
I held my boy near and told tales of a brand-new life, until,
One day we left for the unknown, again,
This time away from Main Street America.
– L.J. Lenehan –
Mavericks, wander in; during the early hours,
Diverging from purpose, at every opening.
Authorities move in; to block off the vicinity,
Searching for the missing:
Half eaten cereal bowls, abandoned,
Shrugs, the dogs wanted it anyway.
Raise the alarm!
The house engulfed in smoke!
Wild thing one wanted toast!
Wild thing two threw a tea towel over the toaster!
The world is ending!
War ensues over what to view:
No! Disney is crap!
I have the remote control!
Hairs sticking up; deranged!
The fumigation process starts;
It smells like a French whore house.
Hair spray, gel, super glue;
Whatever it takes, to get them looking half normal.
Socks appear, out of nowhere,
Shoes on feet,
It is coming together.
The Hulk no longer outraged;
The Banshee contributes her last shrill squeal.
Suddenly, two angels appear;
Another successful morning.
– L.J. Lenehan –