Anvil in a Lace Bootie

Here’s to –

Nora the barnacle goose –

Skin-the-Goat –

the giggle fit of bronze by gold –

the blind stripling piano tuner tap tap tapping along –

skyblue socks with clocks, jaunty –

Plumtree’s Potted Meats, which can make of each home an abode of bliss –

Rose of Castille and rows of cast steel –

met him pike hoses –

Come forth, Lazarus!  And he came fifth and lost the job –

On his wise shoulders through the checkerwork of leaves the sun flung spangles, dancing coins –

Private Carr and his escalating oath –

lame Gerty limping, a dreamer –

those lovely seaside girls –

the heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit –

yes

WHICH ITEM DOES NOT BELONG?

1

a. nitrogen-fixing bacteria

b. nitrogen-destroying bacteria

c. nitrogen

d. bacteria

e. a pleasant afternoon on the Nile

2.

a. The Grim Reaper

b. The Jaunty Reaper

c. The McCormick Reaper

d. jingle bells

1

SECRET AGENT

2

(SECRET AGENT)

3

(. . . . . .  . . . . .)

4

HIT BY PITCH

Throw it at me.  Go ahead, throw it at me, you god damn pizzaface.  I’m ready.  Come on.  Come on.  Bring it.  THUNK! Shitassdamn.  Hell.  Okay.  Okay.  I put the bat down.  See?  I put it down gently.  Lay it on the ground like a little sleepy baby.  See my smile?  I’m smiling.  See it?  Wait a minute.  Don’t get out there between me and the mound, you fat blue garlicsucking blob of shit!  And get a strike zone and lose 200 pounds while you’re at it.  I’m walking.  I’m walking.  Look.  Nothing.  I’m walking to first.  Walking.  I’m smiling.  I’m nodding.  Stay in the dugout, boys.  Go back down.  Get off the steps.  It doesn’t hurt.  I’ve been waiting for this a long time.  A long time.  And here it is.  I’m on the base.  I’m here.  Give me something to look at, Jimmy.  Skin, shirt, letters, belt, hat, ear, nose, clap.  Talk all you want, Jimmy.  I’m going down there on the first pitch.  I’m going to get him.  Get Partridge.  Get the party boy.  Knock him down.  Going for the wind.  That’s the dream.  Have him flipping on the ground, gasping for air.  It’s payback time.  Four years.  Patience.  I knew the time would come.  I told him.  He knows it.  Look at him.  His girly nose with the pointy tip.  He knows it.  I nod at him.  He knows.  Go ahead, call time.  Walk over and have a chat with the pizzaface.  It doesn’t matter.  You going to call a pitchout, Girly Nose?  Go right god damn shit ahead.  I’m coming down.  You’re going down.  Going down, Girly Nose.  It is payback time.  Zits is ready to throw.  I’m easing out into my lead.  All right, rookie zitface, I’m staring at you.  Coming over here?  I’m diving back.  SLAP! That’s nice.  I appreciate that.  Thank you, Herm, for slapping me hard on the rib the punk just nailed.  That’s good.  A good pain.  Feeds me, baby.  We was teammates once, wasn’t we, Herm?  Teammates?  Roommates!  I appreciate it.  Yes, sir, Herm, that is for me a great deal of help.  Don’t talk to me, Jesse.  Stay in the coach’s box.  I’m waving you away.  Can’t you see me waving you away?  Go away.  Herm, don’t snigger.  Don’t snigger, Herm.  I might have to tell you about me and your wife.  You wouldn’t like that, Herm.  Jimmy, what are you doing over there?  Chin, nose, ear, hat, arm, thigh, skin, belt, wipe off, chin, belt….Aww, come on.  Hey, Girly Nose.  See me wink at you.  Come on.  Give me a look.  Please.  Pretty please all done up in a bow.  Wink.  Wink.  Wink.  Look at me, bastard!  The punk baby with the bad skin is looking for his sign.  I take a lead, watch his dainty feet.  Don’t come over here again!  SLAP! Herm, you didn’t drop your knee on my hand on purpose, did you?  I’m smiling.  Good.  Let it build.  You want to know about me and your sister, Herm?  Me and your mother?  Me and your god damn fucking dog?  Not today, Herm, not today.  Sorry.  This is Girly Nose’s moment.  In a couple years, Herm.  A couple years.  I’ll make an appointment for you.  Get back in the coach’s box, Jesse!  I’m waving you away.  Go back!  Stay in the dugout, Skip.  Stay down there.  Keep away.  This is my moment.  Our moment.  Me and Girly Nose.  I know what will happen.  It’s happened a thousand times in my head.  It’ll be a high cross body and I’ll drive my elbow into the pit of his gut.  I’ve heard the sharp grunt deflating him a thousand times in my dreams.  Now it will be real.  Flipping on the ground.  Empty of air.  Writhing.  Yes, Girly Nose.  Indeed, yes.  Jimmy’s running the signs again?  There’s been no pitch to the plate yet and this is the third time he’s doing his jittery dance.  Give it a rest, Jimmy.  The punk is ready to pitch.  I’m edging out.  I’m poised.  Please go to the plate this time, punk.  Yes!  I’m off.  Girly Nose coming to cover.  There he is.  Oh, thank God, the throw is high!  He’s stretched out open going up to get it.  I launch.  Drive my elbow under the ribs.  The grunt, the gasp of pain.  I hear it!  Bliss!  He’s twisting, flipping, open mouthed, silent, on the ground.  Stream from the dugouts, boys.  Come on out.  Come on out!

The critics were right. It does fail as a tragedy.

g

playin……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………catch

Announcer:

Heaven. Wouldn’t you like to be there? Just remember this –

Girl trio:

White Swan cigarettes will make you rave

They’ll open up your path to an early grave

Announcer:

White Swan. White Swan cigarettes. Now available in radium-resistant cartons. When last we left our adventure starring Miss Gloria Swanson as plucky polar explorer Sylvia Thorpe, our heroine had just buried her ice pick in the cranium of a polar bear. Subsequently … (music) … (music fade) … (sound of raging wind)

Sylvia:

If I can … There! … Whew! That ice pick was really in there, wasn’t it? You might save me yet, Mr. Polar Bear. I’ll slit … you … like … uh … uh … there. Now to crawl inside. I’ll ride out the storm snug in your warmth. Funny, this is right where you wanted me to be. You and I just had a little difference of opinion as to how I was to get here. Yeah, just a little difference of opinion. (chuckles) (music)

Announcer:

Meanwhile, back at base …

NO TREES PASSING

PIRATE POPERY

How many hypnotherapists are burly? And of the burly hypnotherapists, how many are women? And of the burly hypnotherapist women, how many are world class athletes? In short, is there a burly world class female athlete who is a practicing hypnotherapist? And if this person exists, does she do her own laundry? Or in fact does her neighbor find himself inexplicably sorting dainties in the laundry room as if in a dream?

When I was young Doc Horton, I used oil pastels to make that self-portrait. Oil pastels are glorified crayons. I think I inadvertantly captured the innocence of nature. Don’t you?