There are days when I find so many words, I mix them up, jumble them around and beautiful things happen. Just this morning, I found out that people like my efforts. I mean, I really had some nice responses to things I had written. My mother says that poetry was always a problem for me. I thought in poems. I still do. It makes for crazy days and a way to handle things like an influx of roaches or perhaps a shiba inu doing her crazy shiba shake (not ice cream based). I’ll show you the roaches first.
When I first got married we lived in an area known for muggings and the best country western bar in Alexandria, Virginia. Our apartment was an old building with warped floors from Hurricane Camille. We lived so far from the canal it was hard to believe that the water came up into our apartment on the second floor. Roaches lived everywhere. So did the rats, giant wharf rats with long tails and…..sheesh. I wrote about them too. So, to get my words back together, I needed humor to face these things.
See the roachie on the wall?
See the little roachie fall.
Mommy hit it with a bat.
Now no one knows where roachies at.
I must have written 100 roach poems. The rat poems are darker, and redder.
She saw your shadow in the bush nearby
The door where all entry was given
To humankind and Irish setter and she set her cap at you.
The baby was in my arms, snuggling, loved
And I, poor tired mother, working,
Cleaning, making a home and trying to best the odds.
I saw her leap, snatch, shake, throw and snap your neck.
“There were no rats,” I had been told.
I left you on the steps
Where the access is for people and dogs.
I knew your family would be back.
Those were dark days and light days. My son slept to the theme from MASH, on six times a day and the only channel we could receive. He laughed at the sound of the MASH helicopters, and learned to giggle at the funny faces Alan Alda made. He’s very fond of the reruns now that he is 34 and still brand new, at least in my eyes. He developed that same overdeveloped sense of honor and patriotism that I suffer from. It lead him to many growths, emotional and developmental.
Then I got a cat, she was up a tree with no way down. That’s what we thought anyway. After being tempted with food, Sheba moved in with us and decided that we were on probation. She liked the baby, bringing him cat toys when he cried. We had no insects or rodents in the new apartment. It was a good thing. The rent was four times the old Alexandria apartment’s total. She was black and ferocious. She had panther moves and sidled through the dream world that only she could see. She stayed with us for five years before deciding that my babysitting was too much to be born. I wrote her a poem too.
I’m so sorry the boy, with the drunk,
Decided to pull your tail,
Decided to break a window,
Decided to be a menace.
The girl child misses you.
You are invisible in the closet with all of her sorrows.
Life always goes by so quickly. Every time I blinked, another ten years was gone. I tried to slow down the pace, but, with each effort, time sprang forward again and again. I wrote about my students. Each a treasure of light and hope. I hope they all grew up to be political activists. They were so wise back then.
Now time has shifted again, and it’s 2:34 AM. It’s long past my bedtime, so I will leave you with just this tidbit to think about. Have a good morning or evening or day.
3 thoughts on “Sitting on the Left Side of Write”
Time dies seem to fly at a frightening pace, doesn’t it?
You write so well. I’m hooked