Monday, October 15, 2007

Were Nothing

“I’m here for Snood,” I said.
“Snood’s not here for you,” said the blonde plate.
“And you are?”
“Not Snood.”
“Your day job?”
“Not Snood, both day and night,” said the dish. Blue plate she were. Very blue. “Not the Madonna either, if that’s what you mean.”
“Not sure what I mean. I’m still reckoning.”
“Day of?”
“Not quite that Anglican.”
“Nor that nautical.”
“I’ve seen you before,” said the Snoodnot. “’72, crisp fall in the quad, the conversation was dangling: derelict poetry. Looked like a bachelor party to me.”
“Most poetry does. My beatnik government tutor. He was 259 dissertation pages and 9 Pound cantos short of expulsion.”
“What I heard was Ram Dass.”
“Actually, it was Laing.”
“k. d.?”
“R. D.”
“That would account for it.”
“Politics of experience, be here now, and Marcuse.”
“That would account for – ”
“I’ve known better syncretism.”
“Wash and wear, no doubt.”
“Had a taco dog once, labored through Eros and Civilization. Knitted a purple scarf to see him through.”
“That’ll make an English major of the finest rodent.”
“It certainly did me.”
“And Professor Jumpstart?”
“He’s at the Fogg.”
“Smartypants. At. Archivist. Once “King of Hearts” stopped playing at the Central, he ran dry. Turns out he was riffing off the credits. Now, he writes love notes to Twombly.”
“Grace. Cy’s baby sister. You might call her the Anti-Cy.”
“Never knew he had –“
“She never meant for you to.”
“Reckless recluse.”
“Happens to the best.”
“Must it?”
“It must.”
“What exactly was it brought you to Snood?”
“He fired at mid-range. I was wondering if he could lighten up.”
“For instance?”
“Kid on the bus says, ‘What if everything was candy, except us and our clothes?’”
“Pepper spray would be skittles.”
“Just what he said.”
“Undoubtedly. The logic is embedded in the Faidoni.”
“I hope it has better sense than that.”
“Deborah Harry has more sense than that.”
“Then, said the Mighty Tundra, our tables would be brownies and our mirrors, rock candy.”
“Bus-kid again, I assume. Parents sound vegan. I used to sandpaper with spelt.”
“Facial scrub, too.”
“Have we flirted enough?”
“How about –“
“That’ll do.”
“You in for the night?”
“I’m in for the century.”
“Grilled veggie tacos?”
“I wouldn’t want to insult the mutt.”
“Taco? Long gone.”
“Too much arugala?”
“Too little –“
“Let me guess. Too little Krall.”
“Amazing. How –“
“Look of Love album. They like her toes.”
“Seems she does, too.”
“A little too fond.”
“Paraphernalia has its place.”
“So does Milton.”
“No need to be extreme.”
“Is it any wonder?”
“Never on a Sunday.”
“And never in tweed. Pick me up at 8. We’ll check your parallel parking, see if it’s a date.”

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Blogger San said...

The blonde plate turned blue when her blueberry popsicle toes melted. You shoulda seen Diana crawl.

3:33 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

San: Libra, by any chance? My wife Tina is, and she loves a good pun. That could be the Gemini rising: whatever it is, it's Air.

I almost invoked popsicle toes meself, conjuring up the old Michael Franks.

11:18 PM  
Blogger San said...

Virgo. Guess it's the Mercury influence. Tina sounds pretty cool, collaborating with you on poems and such.

3:39 PM  

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