I Don't Normally Write Rhymes...

12.29 Tattle Tail

A little girl went padding by

a little twinkle in her eye

as if she found a treasure bright

or made it dryly through the night

and with this gleam she did draw near

her mother without shame or fear

and from a place in her far south

she opened up her ugly mouth

revealing rows of jagged teeth

just like a blood-ringed pearly wreath

and from her fat back without fail

there sprouted there a tattle tail

this scaly switch that grew so quick

stretched itself then gave a flick

as if to portend things unsaid

things she was to soon unbed

so from her nasty mouth-cave came

a proclamation to her fame

that someone wronged her moments past

their anonymity—it could not last

when such a voice cannot be kept

under the covers where it slept

it simply must bust forth to call

about the place this blame should fall

and point the fingers at a friend

or enemy if this that ends

no matter what the consequence

she simply must tell someone hence

her mother nods and thanks the girl

with bloodstained face and crooked pearls

and turns to us—our smiles fail

“She likes to be a tattle-tale.”

###

12.30  Bag of Nickels

If I could count the miles

that have passed underneath

this passenger seat

while I sing and he listens

take that tally sheet 

to the bank and cash in

shiny nickels for each

the sack I’d have to bring with

could never again be moved 

by any number of human hands

and yet I would still be less inclined

to move once more into that same seat

for any more trips

no matter the length

or necessity of such things

and that bag of nickels could sit.

###

12.31  New Year’s Eve

Her scissors severed everything

that was keeping me tied

to this year of injury

turns of ankle and fate

bruised monogamy and skin

expectations of employment

or any sense of enjoyment

of this misery that ends tonight

it now lies in a black bag

awaiting the landfill

where in a better time 

different place

it might become something soft

and beautiful to couch

perhaps

a nesting egg

the pride a mother would guard

with her very own life.

###

Out