Sunday Scribbling #136: Change

Bettina, played by Miranda Richardson, speaking to Edina, played by Ab Fab’s Jennifer Saunders:

“You know, we try to be green, but it’s just not humanly possible.”

Those of you out there in the world who have yet to see Jennifer Saunders’ sublime comedy series “Absolutely Fabulous,” I can’t help you: you’re on your own entirely.

This is about change. Real change.

Almost ten years ago, in the late hours of December 1, 1998, after nearly forty-two weeks of a growing pregnant belly on the part of the black rose, the home-birthing of Mr. Baby began. Thirty-six hours later, spent, exhausted (and that was just the father), we rolled into St. David’s Hospital in Austin, Texas, at which point we thought we’d give delivery the more traditional fling—

The Azimuth of Pool Time

Change, we wanted real change

not the kind that five and dimes

its way into your consciousness

as the checker waves &

you’re stuck with yet

another round of Biff on toast

and the memoirs of

J. Rebekah Hornsby,

late of Pablo-Fanques Fair,

what a scene,

a druid’s dream, if I ever

did see one

we have all been here before

& why am I mired in the mire

of noodle-fest,

alpine propane handsome

gootchie gootchie &

all that statuary, no

it was diapers we wanted,

cloth, organic cotton

home-birthed baby on the way, echoing

Bettina’s song, while Eddie’s shagging

Polar Hulk in the only way she knows how,

immaterial and incandescent in

a Chrysler Neon sort of way,

diapers for baby,

metal container

all terribly droll &

verdant, our battle cry

for change, our mutual

admiration for nascent change,

our virtual game of tick tock

way beyond full fathoms five,

diapers that were Olympic

swimming pools wet,

& larded in virtuoso

manure, change

at the Spider House,

change, at Musashino Sushi, change,

in the charging of the tent,

change, as Amy’s rained

down approval ratings

Governor Ann (god rest her soul)

could only dream of. The

canister was ordnance fit

to be tied, the hands chafed,

the next pile a

derivative of cherished values

& diminishing stock.

We caved, browned our green,

changed for the worse, changed

into tyranny blasters,

changed into sleep-deprived

wanderers in

our own house,

glow-in-the-dark Mary

startling me in the

Hoover Downs, as

charisma lost her share

and I to Randall’s hied

for a less than green

solution to the last

great monster of

post-adolescent appeal,

desire squared by

the azimuth of our

reckoning, an arctic straight and true,

a providence spruced after

the sublimely,

effervescently

status

mysteriosis

thelonio-sus

actinomorphous,

Acanthopterygious, but only

on a Sunday—

ready, set, au go go, yes
that kind

of status
quo quo.