Serious Inquiries Only

For Sale, Cheap:

One overflowing gallon of restless ennui

Two pseudo-scientific treatises on the instinctive urge to bite and bite again

A half-full pail of spiraling, foaming, black-eyed jealousy

Ten thousand junk food oblivions and their attendant self-loathings

A six pack of 'at this point, I'd fuck anything' regrets

A baker's dozen of smug eye-rolls from the younger, the cuter, 
The better-dressed

A smothering wave of relentless, unhinged, big-C Capitalism

And

A red-ringed, tear-stained, Xbox--
One-time heaven, always a friend
Reluctantly parted

Serious inquiries only (I mean it!)
Finally moving on
Need all of this junk gone yesterday...

Thnks!

>>>>>W. Cesar Chavez St., Austin, TX.>>>> 

>>>Dozen Street, Austin, TX. >>>

<<<<<East Austin, TX.<<<<

>>>West Lake Hills, Austin, TX.>>>>

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The Mousewife and the Saboteurs

The saboteurs arrived via sampan and slipped into Yangon Port under cover of darkness. Together, they carried enough explosives to end, once and for all, the hundred-year reign of the Konbaung dynasty.

The pink fingers of dawn hadn't yet appeared at the corners of the sky as the men set about placing the first charges against the foundation of the Celestial Palace. At that very moment, a family of field mice happened to be making its way from its burrow beneath the walls of the palace to a nearby stream in the trees below. Noticing the skulking men, the observant Mousewife--using her loudest and most confident voice--asked their intention.

‘We intend to kill the emperor and his family,’ the largest of the saboteurs said.

‘Hah,’ the Mousewife exclaimed, herding her pups away. ‘Best save a bit of that mess for whichever of you next becomes king!’

The saboteurs eyed each other warily. While none would admit it aloud, each one harbored fantasies of becoming the next emperor. Once the current regime was dealt with, their unspoken reasoning went, a new emperor would naturally arise from amongst them.

They set to work.

Once out of the men's sight, the Mousewife sent her swiftest child to the palace with a warning.

The mouse pup attempted to warn the Commander of the Palace Guard, but found the man snoring, drunk in his bed. The guardsmen were drunk as well, one nearly stepping on him while stumbling to the privy. Discouraged, but not wanting to disappoint his mother, the canny creature finally managed to enlist the aid of a lowly washing-up boy. That boy now hung his shaggy head out a window situated directly above the toiling plotters.

‘You’d not want to live here; the privies are icy, and the walls seep smelly green water!’ the boy shouted, hoping to dissuade them from their mission.

The saboteurs ignored him.

‘There are mice in the walls, and bats in the towers. The emperor has gout from bad food, and his concubines make light of his endowment behind his back!’

The saboteurs continued to wind their fuses.

Increasingly alarmed, the washing-up boy ran off and told the assistant cook, who, after some convincing, came down for a look and now hung from the selfsame window.

 ‘I spit in the emperor’s soup,’ he yelled grimly. ‘We all do!’

No reply.

‘The larders are full of black mold!’ he shouted in frustration.

The Mousewife and her family had returned from the stream. Noticing the men still laboring at the base of the wall, she decided a more direct intervention might be required. Using her loudest, most confident voice, she addressed the closest of the saboteurs.

‘Pardon me. I am small, sir, but I am quick. I’ve seen everything there is to see within the palace. I can show you where to place your charges so that the emperor and his family will be instantly killed by the explosion.’

The largest saboteur stroked his mustache, narrowing his eyes.

‘Show us,’ he said.

The Mousewife led the saboteurs to a nondescript spot on the vast wall. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘The emperor's private dining room lies just on the other side. Conveniently, they break their fast only one hour from now. An explosion here will kill them, and the throne will be yours.’

The largest saboteur still appeared skeptical. ‘What do you gain from helping us, little one?’

The Mousewife rose to her furry haunches. ‘Gain?’ she replied, ‘I wish only to preserve my home and the lives of my children. What care I who sits the throne, so long as I can live below it?’

The saboteurs nodded, each in their turn, apparently satisfied with her answer.

‘However,’ she continued. ‘I will ask one small token for my aid. May I have one of your fine hats?  I will use the straw to line my burrow, so that in the winter months my family stays warm and dry.’

The saboteurs smiled at such a small request, and after some squabbling, handed over the most worn and shabby of their hats.

All the explosive charges were soon moved to the single spot the mouse had indicated. Anxious as they were to complete the job thoroughly, the saboteurs had piled up every ounce of explosive in their possession.

The explosion was deafening. A great hole appeared in the thick wall, and through that hole rushed a raging torrent of green water, first engulfing the saboteurs, and then drowning them in the roots of the trees below. It seems that they, in their haste to blow up the Imperial Family, had instead breached one of the Celestial Palace’s immense and ancient underground river cisterns.

When the water came roaring, the Mousewife jumped nimbly into the straw hat at her feet, and hanging on for dear life, rode out the flood in relative safety.

For his valorous efforts in thwarting the assassination attempt, the assistant cook now holds the title of Exalted Chef to his Celestial Majesty. And at the base of the repaired wall, a copy of the Celestial Palace, in miniature, has been erected on the shore of the recently created millpond. In front of that miniature palace, pups wrestling at her feet, a contented Mousewife sits, weaving warm straw mats for the winter.

The washing-up boy is, however, despite being awarded a lovely set of new rags, still the washing-up boy.

#####

<<<Vinegar Hill, Brooklyn>>>>

>>>>Austin, TX.>>>>

>>>>East Austin, TX.<<<<<<<

<<<Evergreen Cemetery, East Austin, TX.>>>>

>>>J. Lorraine Ghost Town, Manor, TX.>>>>

<<<Plummers Cemetery, East Austin, TX.>>>>

>>><<J. Lorraine Ghost Town, Manor, TX.<><>

<<<<Sam's BBQ, East Austin, TX.>>>>

The Dogs of Fort Tryon

The dogs of Fort Tryon

Sup mince from a bowl,
They drink from fine china
On carpets they loll

They bound down the hillsides
With vigor unmatched,
They paw and they pout
Until butts are scratched

There's Ruby the robot
She'll twitch and she'll stare,
She walks on her tiptoes
Pretends you're not there

There's Barkley the pug
Who waddles so fat,
Eyes left and rightly
With ears like a bat

Chaz is a whippet
He leaps and he jumps,
He's known as a rogue
Who smells lots of rumps

Libah is frightened
She's just skin and bones,
Preferring the company
Of toys that she owns

Bella and Lilly
From Boston and France,
Will fight like the devil
If given the chance

See Bubba in harness
He snorts and he pulls,
His legs short and stocky

His chest like a bull's

Old Garbo is grumpy
Her hips get so sore,
Outside for mere seconds

She paws at the door

As hawks keen above them

They sniff and they bark,

Their goal for this evening

Chase woodchucks in the park

The dogs of Fort Tryon

Neurotic yet sweet,
Guaranteed to exhaust
Any Walker they meet

>>>>>Park Slope, Brooklyn>>>>

<<<<Park Slope, Brooklyn>>>>

>>>>>Downtown, Brooklyn>>>>

<<<<Boerum Hill, Brooklyn>>>>

<<<<<Fort Greene, Brooklyn>>>

<<<Savannah, GA>>>

<<<Glasgow, Scotland<<<<

>>>Vinegar Hill, Brooklyn>>>>

             The Ladies Escape

With whining starter, and groaning grumble

The Ladies did blink, like bats in Sunday hats,

Behind the din of the motorcar's rumble.

The wheels slowly turned (yes, mud was churned)

And Miss Reginald did note, clearing her throat,

Feelings of regret for the cognac she'd spurned.

"Ladies," she said, smoothing her skirts,

"Now that we're free, it is apparent to me

It's a good time to air our individual hurts."

The others nodded, Miss Galbraith, Miss Fossett,

But who would be first, for best or for worse

And once told, would dear sisters still cosset?

"He made me eat lox!" Miss Galbraith confessed.

"And soft, runny cheese, I begged him, oh please!

Still he made me eat greens--barely dressed!"

"His sweat was appalling!" Miss Fossett, she cried,

"From morning 'til noon, like an Asian typhoon

He dripped--but suggestions--he would not abide!"

Silence now reigned o'er the close motorcar

As the Ladies they waited, for she whom was fated

To reveal now her incidents so grossly bizarre.

"My consort was perfect," Miss Reginald, she said,

"From A to Z, kitchen to bedroom, acorn to tree,

So how was I to know one of us would end up dead?

"I may have continued in love, gay and untroubled,

But a letter arrived, by which someone contrived

To reveal sundry secrets--my anxieties doubled!

"'The husband you know,' the letter it read,

'Is not as he seems, even in your wildest dreams.

You could not imagine the many lives he has lead.'

"Enclosed was a photograph of a man at the shore.

It was my betrothed, but the way he was clothed

Was in the style of at least a century before!"

"Oh!" cried Miss Fossett, and jumped in her seat

While Miss Galibraith did gasp, as if seeing an asp

With fangs bared on the ground near her feet.

"I vowed to learn the truth on that very day,"

Miss Reginald did utter, with nary a stutter,

"When it came to secrets I could not remain blasé.

"I watched and I watched, nothing seemed amiss,

'Til one night he crept, while thinking I slept,

With a stealth that I could not easily dismiss.

"I waited in silence, and then followed behind.

Into the night did he slip, but couldn't outstrip

His pursuer--our two fates now so intertwined.

"He entered a barn, and I spied through a crack

Horses in their stalls--walls within walls--

Skittish as foxes, amongst mountains of tack.

"Without hesitation he approached a grey mare,

Who, while first agitated, quickly seemed sated

By a wave of his hand and a blank darkling stare.

"Then, producing a knife, he made a small cut

In the poor horse's flank, from then which he drank

Her blood, with a lustful relish akin to smut!

"In terror I fled from that grimly lit portal,

A pain in my soul, and an image made whole

Of a man who now seemed both ghoul--and immortal!"

Silence now reigned o'er the cramped motorcar

As the Ladies digested, and fought being bested

By the horrific tale which gripped them like tar.

"They had needs to be poisoned, we all did agree,

So let's continue our years, free from our fears,"

Miss Reginald declared with firm finality.

With turning wheels, and winds' whipped whine,

The Ladies did blink, like bats in Sunday hats,

As the motorcar whisked them down the line...

In a chilled drawing room three men now did sit.

They made not a sound, triple watches unwound,

Cold and lifeless, like shuttered lanterns unlit.

A teacup lay empty near each dead man's hand,

The only sound in the room, this unlikely tomb,

The tick, tick of a clock in an old wooden stand.

At twelve the clock spoke, how loudly it rang!

In the air palpitation, an anticipation

Of something unnatural, a sour, salty tang.

Mr. Reginald, he twitched now returning to life,

And within him a craving, just short of raving,

Pushed him up from his chair with an angry howl--

"WIFE!"