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The Literary Review

Page 62

Issue 10                    Page 61

Life on Uranus

there’s none as far as we know

& most are content

to leave it at that cold dark

gaseous & further from our thoughts

 

than the sun beyond which lies

a large part of the universe

still under construction so

expect long delays that’s where 

 

the dead go except for db cooper buried

under the downtown holiday inn

waiting like richard iii

to be uncovered another mystery solved

 

yet why as we’re setting off

on a weekend getaway to the lake

traffic backed up

past the vanishing point

 

clouds rumbling on the horizon                     

why would you tugging

at my arm nearly tearing my half-

unbuttoned shirt

 

howl at me to go back

so you could buy an evel

knievel collector’s cup at the 7-11

we’d just passed jesus why would anyone

 

because you said you’d seen him

jump this very gorge

when you were eight maybe nine

whatever the math I was pretty sure

 

it amounted to bullshit

but to prove it you plucked the mirrored                                 

shades right off my face & flung

them out the window across

 

the ravine or tried as you swore

knievel did in his stars

& stripes jumpsuit looking a little

like elvis in vegas tumbling off the stage

OK But

the shapeshifting moon

                                                makes it difficult

                   to predict what kind

of slice you should ex-

                                                pect to see of the

                  pie that’s our mores

if that song is true

                                               all songs are true &

                  the figures check out

like ralph & alice

                                               after a weekend

                  stuck in sheboygan

by the frozen lake 

                                              of memory when

                  he claimed he’d spotted

a cheetah crouching

                                             behind the lobby couch

                 she scoffed said deadpan

straight-faced that cheetahs

                                            are born with c’mon

                 man you know the thing

spots & everyone

                                            laughed at that phony                         

                 hotel where wasn’t

it liberace

                                           who said I’m not a

                 piano but I

play one on tv

                                           you’re a damned lyre

                 nobody’s ever

tested the theory

                                          of free trade outside

                 the laboratory

that’s a red flag that’s

                                         why it’s important

                 whitecoat folk tell us

that you keep in mind

                                         results may vary

                 depending upon

individual what

                                        let’s call use so it’s

                 not exploitation

common side effects

                                        include loss of hair

                 loss of hearing loss

of humanity

                                       hard stools exploding

                 brain heart gout toe jam

 a sudden lack of 

                                       appre-

                                       cia-

                                       tion

                  for fragonard &

in severe cases

                                       caravaggio

                  nothing’s perfect &

that’s what you get but

                                     there are plenty of

                  worse things in the first

place have you seen the

                                    shawshank redemption

                 you’re not on death row

are you I mean well

                                    are you believe me

                 I’m really sorry

for whatever the

                                    fill-in-the-blank you

                 said I did but once      

you signed the contract

                                   you took the damn job           

                 & as for second

place nobody gives

                                   a rat’s fuck they don’t

                 throw parades downtown

when you blow the world

                                 series hey look out 

                 for number 1 &

you might want to keep

                                 an ion 7

                 2 4 it 8 9

I like to say like

                                the old chestnut &

                today I myself

am that old chestnut

                                I solemnly swear

               so help me gold or

however it goes

In Sanctuary

popeye loses his skivvies

& dixie cup cap quicker

than a drunk sailor on shore

           leave exchanging them

for a funereal black

suit & slouch hat that he tilts  

to shade his squinty eye gone

          is the squeegee-clean

persona the kid friendly

cackle the familiar corn-

cob pipe a foul spinach-green

         cigarette nearly

burnt to the nub now dangles

from his lower lip as he

mutters such memorable

          bons mots as I yams

what I yams or that’s alls I

cans stands & I canst stands no

more highlighting faulkner’s fine

         ear for dialect

olive oyl the apple of

popeye’s eye his good one plays

a ditzy yahoo hailing

        from yazoo city

with an uncanny knack for

making men so horny they

hurl themselves like lemmings of

        lore off lover’s leap

on cue popeye’s nemesis

bluto nee brutus in seer-

sucker suit & suspenders  

         enters a small-town

attorney charged with taking

on his rival not with skull-

cracking ball-busting scrawny

         ass-pasting sorts of

brutality as is his

wont but in a court of law

he knows popeye’s a psycho

         the grim & gravied

round the clock rough house crowd out

to lunch in perpetuum

watched him empty his gat

         into j wellington

wimpy’s gut the price of a

hamburger unremitted

tuesday as agreed but can

         bluto get even

one of those lily-livered

yellowbellies to say so

under oath alice the goon

        shines as a narco-

leptic sex worker likewise

swee’ pea’s a natural as

a bawling brat that said I

         give sanctuary

a less enthusiastic

recommendation than the

hamlet what with its haunting

         backwater backdrop

where a conniving uncle’s

marriage to his brother’s well-

endowed widow leaves them all

         in a rotten state

Nobody You Know

wears a denim jacket with cut-

off sleeves so really                                        

it’s a vest multicolored

inked snakes coil around his arms’

 

dark sweating muscles

under his pickelhaube chrome

spike smudged with grease or

is it blood his long curly     

 

dirty blond locks blow as he

revs his hog riding                             

your bumper sneering scowling                     

goggles tinted black

 

he looks like a giant wasp                  

one with a waxed wing mustache &  

heavy five o’clock

shadow at a quarter till

 

noon in your rearview

the message from the maker

offers no consolation

he appears closer

 

than you want the angel of

death pointing at you

with his black fingerless glove

throttles past you up the road

© SusanWeiman: Red Sky, Fourth of July 2022
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