-Rebop the cat and 1017-

when “Rebop” the cat was called to stiffness,

we put her in a shallow grave dug by our father

at the far end of the grapevine.

same with “Schnozzola”, a short-lived blue-feathered parakeet,

but this time the planting was closer to the vegetable garden where the green
hornworms inched their way upward with an acid taste for tomatoes.

shoeboxes from “Thom McAn” were employed

for the funeral services, pulled from the bin in the basement where

shoeboxes were stacked for such occasions.

the goldfish were simply flushed overnight.

from water thou art and unto water shalt thou return.

the rapture:

the house smells of peppermint and "Raid" because

the Gleason’s are coming over for a visit
with their uninhibited daughter, Lizzie, same age as me, in tow.

during snacks but before television, I'd play my ukulele for Lizzie
as we swayed on the musty old chaise lounge under the sour-apple tree.
inside, colorful mints in milk-glass saucers cover the surfaces

under a settling veil of commercially endorsed fluorocarbon aerosol insecticide.  

my parents and the Gleason's enjoy
the "Ed Sullivan Show" on television.

the men will smoke Lucky Strike and Chesterfield,

the women will puff Old Gold and Viceroy in an effort to keep-up.

my sister, near three years my elder
will dance for them to exhaustion; theirs, not hers.

my brother, near three years my younger
will perform an encore of magic tricks pulled from a colorful box.
Lizzie listens to the thumb-picked sounds of "my dog has fleas"
as I fine-tune the ukulele for another performance.

once inside, apart from the virtuosity in strummin' the ol' ukulele,
I offer-up my latest pencil drawing for the company's consideration
of Jesus hanging crucified, as seen from hovering above the cross,
same as Saint John sees him, same as Sal Dali sees him,––

but the guy on Ed's television show who spins dinner plates
over his head at the tip of long thin rods, looks pretty good.

I'm mostly intrigued with the dancing packs

of “Old Gold” cigarettes because ladies legs

draped in fishnet stockings are poured

from the base of them like gifts from the gods.

I’ll remember the imagery in bed after my prayers.

for the record, Priest didn’t feel me up after my confessional
or blow me in the twilight sacristy like the older altar boys deemed ready

and If you enjoy stories such as these, but with enhanced detailed development,

you may also be interested in: c.1952.


                                                                    c.1953