Monthly Archives: August 2009

Summer, 1986

The pages of the old Playboy magazines
we had in stacks
in my father’s cluttered garage
were flat, muted moth wings
with wholesome milk ad faces
smiling up at me from their covers
before the days of rampant plastic
surgery; pointy nippled titties
small and high or supple
breasts attached to women arching
their backs, ringless fingers draped
across the delicate curves of their
untucked stomachs.

At age twelve,
I made my living
by selling them to boys
out my parents’
bathroom window;
an underage Playboy drive-
through of sorts.

There were other magazines:
Hustler, Cherry, some nameless
without covers stashed
beneath the bottom drawer
of the bathroom; battered publications
found by accident
when I pulled the drawer
out too far, smashing my toe
as it landed on the floor.
I remember in particular,
one with a brown haired girl
who traded a Tootsie Pop
for the cock
of an old, bald man;
her mouth and eyes
as lifeless
as the blow-up doll
she resembled.

Even at twelve, I knew
better than to sell
those ones
out the window.
But I got five bucks
a copy
for the Playboys.


We Must Have Been Very Entertaining

Driving past my childhood home,
everything seemed smaller.
The ‘big hill’
was not much more
than a slope,
the houses, miniatures
built with legos,
lawns of dry, brown grass.
I wondered if the people
who bought the Wilson’s
house knew of the murder
inside. The bullet
caught my best friend’s mom
as she was almost
out the door.

Our house was the same,
air conditioner hanging
out the exact window
in which my mom put it,
so cold indoors some days
we joked that you
could hang sides
of meat. Some days
I would step outside
just to thaw
for a while.
There was the porch
where I rollerskated
to songs on the radio,
the window my mom smashed
with her bare hand
in a rage, and the front yard
that seemed so large
when I was little.

Looking at it I understood
how the neighbors heard
all the screaming.

We were right there
the whole time,
hanging it all out
for the world to see,
reality television
before reality television.


Lurve, Lurve, Lurve

sometimes
it snaps,
like a twig,
in half
and you’re left
staring down
at the jagged
ended pieces,
wondering how
to put them
back together
again.


Not Much Left to Lose

come out with me
he asks
again.  again
i say no,
thank you.

when i was a kid
i had bad skin.
once a boy on the bus
called me
zit factory.

i ran home
to my mom
crying.

she told me
i wear my heart
on my sleeve.

i told her
i didn’t know
what that means.

don’t let things
hurt you
so much
she said.

twenty five years later
it still hurts
just the same

and dinner
and a movie
and a man
to tell me
i’m smart
and pretty
would go a damned
long way.


Don’t Say You Love Me if You Don’t Need Me…

…don’t send me roses on yer behalf…


@LiteraryMary – Thirty Line Story Line by Line

you can have fun with us to0, maybe, if you’d like:

Manifred’s sideburns were horribly ungroomed. So his wife, Horisha, decided to make her sideburns look just like his. After an unsuccessful trip to the pharmacy, she purchased a gun instead. Manifred found the gun, and seeing that it wasn’t loaded… decided to load it. At least there’s one gun around here that won’t be firing blanks, you impotent fuck,’ snorted Horisha while exhaling smoke from the cigarette that was now nothing more than a butt. Manifred unzipped his fly and took out an erection he’d been saving for the girl next door. Grasping the gun in one hand and his cock in the other, he looked out the bedroom window through the darkness to the house next door. “Bukowski”, he whispered. Slowly, but with determination, he turned the gun on Horisha, flaccid cock still in hand. There was a blinding flash of light in the sky, and the clouds roared angrily in the distance. “Bukowski”, he whispered again. And as the name escaped his lips, the sky parted. There in the blue sky was a giant Zeppelin with a banner hanging from its belly. Behind him was God smiling a toothless smile. And behind that was God’s ass parting in the parted sky. Unable to fathom all this without losing his mind, Manifred closed the curtains on the window, turned, and shot Horisha in the stomach all the while never letting go of his limp dick. And he noticed how much stronger and hornier he was than a female corpse whose power, estrogen, pools under her. God’s ass was a wondrous thing, all shit flecked, and full of hemorrhoids. Someone fell out of it. Just then, there was a knock at the door. There was another knock at the door, this time louder and accompanied by a woman shrieking ‘Jesuuuuuuuus’ in a pained manner. Manifred opened the door and discovered his mother standing on the other side. holding a dead baby. She stood still in her blood stained clothes, with an over-grown mustache and disheveled hair. Manifred stared at the baby and realized he was looking at his father. It was then that he recalled the sheet of acid he had licked approximately two and a half hours earlier. His mother melted into the carpet leaving the baby to roll around in her sticky residue. Manifred clutched a hand to his throat. And peed his pants. And at that moment, the sun went out and the world came to an end.