A Christmas sort of poem

Those of you who are weird enough to appreciate my poetry check the latest out at the tag poetry. Work in progress of course.

Zelda re-re dux

It Gets Worse

I'd almost made it out the door.

Going somewhere?

Me?

You're skipping town again, aren't you?

Me?

Zelda grabbed my shirt tail and yanked.

I huff and puff and yank back.

You are out of line this time, sister

He wants no part of me

My cave is waiting

My muse is beckoning

Zelda is not amused

Your fucking muse is just bored.

Last night in Valhalla?

She spun the bottle and let it land on you. Ha!  You're it.

Lucky you

You get to write the play the gods are waiting for

And while you're writing it

He's gone.

Happy now?

Last Tango

I went to find Zelda

She had been off the screen for months

And we missed her.

I found her

Hunched over a martini

In a bar that revolved high above the City

Slowly, but with determination.

She did not look up.

Zelda!  I cried.

Come back to the dance

You left mid-tango.  He misses you.

She took a long pull on her drink and

Gazed out over the City.

My fingers touched her wet cheek.

Why, Zelda?

Because, Babe,

She smiled at me through her tears,

He ate my big fish. 

A short Zelda. More to come

Flowers

11/07

I go to the farmers’ market with Zelda.

She buys flowers

For her lover’s ex-lover

And sends them

Via UPS

Squashed into a nine-by-eleven manila envelope.

She agreed after considerable debate,  not

To include a note.

Zelda's Back

Sometimes I wish for the days of Nick and Nora, Fred and Irene, Miss Piggy and Miss Peel.

The Real thing  (6/28/14)

She arrives as usual in a fur coat

Sable I think

Tosses it to the hat check girl

Along with her Tiparillos, which are no longer acceptable

She stops

Pulls a lipstick from her tiny clutch

Presses it to her carmine lips

Pouts

And follows Germaine to her usual table.

At least this is how I remember it.

Zelda is no longer the center of attention. But

Only because the attention is on lesser things.

When did we wobble away from the diamond?

Why have we settled for the simulated topaz?

How could Georges not be there

Dancing in attendance?

Where is the music

The white tie

The tails

The rhythm?

Zelda settles gracefully at my table.

You're mouldering little one.

The world has not changed.

Elegance is in the mind.

The little people have never acquired the knack and will never

Be able to strip us of it.

Elegance isn't a matter of giving but of receiving.

It is a generosity of spirit that embraces the outliers, the undertakers, the fishmongers

Even the plumbers

And knows them to be interesting because they are human.

Elegance even allows the poor blighters who wave the banner of elegance in defiance of the truth

To exist.

So said Zelda

Before her first sip.

You can imagine what she had to say after the second.

Zelda ReTurns

She arrives as usual in a fur coat

Sable I think

Tosses it to the hat check girl

Along with her Tiparillos, which are no longer acceptable

She stops

Pulls a lipstick from her tiny clutch

Presses it to her carmine lips

Pouts

And follows Germaine to her usual table.

At least this is how I remember it.

Zelda is no longer the center of attention. But

Only because the attention is on lesser things.

When did we wobble away from the diamond?

Why have we settled for the simulated topaz?

How could Georges not be there

Dancing in attendance?

Where is the music

The white tie

The tails

The rhythm?

Zelda settles gracefully at my table.

You're mouldering little one.

The world has not changed.

Elegance is in the mind.

The little people have never acquired the knack and will never

Be able to strip us of it.

Elegance isn't a matter of giving but of receiving.

It is a generosity of spirit that embraces the outliers, the undertakers, the fishmongers

Even the plumbers

And knows them to be interesting because they are human.

Elegance even allows the poor blighters who wave the banner of elegance in defiance of the truth

To exist.

So said Zelda

Before her first sip.

You can imagine what she had to say after the second.

What do you do with a life uninterrupted? A life filled with adventure but never broken up by love? A life full of events, awards, adventures, but no reason to appreciate them? No one waiting at the door after the last interview to say, I missed you.