Phone Convo

"Where do I work? Well, that's such a loaded question. I'm a "graduate." I have several alma maters. I have several daughters. I'm a member of C.L.A.Y. - Capital Letters Association (YOUTH). It's open to young acronym enthusiasts everywhere. I'm 42 years old. The thing about C.L.A.Y. is it's malleable. Pottery is more than just a hobby to me. Without pottery I couldn't have ever built my granaries, for one thing. My third daughter was conceived in a grain elevator, but I thought of the idea of conceiving her long before - at a C.L.A.Y. meeting, actually. That was in Denver in 1975. I'm actually way older than 40. But it's rude to ask a woman's age. In fact, it seems like you are really trying to get a lot of information out of me."

"Um, I just wanted to know if you'd be interested in a health insurance plan that offers cheap dental-"

"My teeth are just fine, thank you. The only plaque I have is on my living room wall, it says "'Molder of C.L.A.Y.' - participant, 1938-2013."

"Jesus, how old are you?"

"I refuse to answer that question, you little shit. In fact, I have half a mind to report you to the authorities. Back in my day, if you even raised your voice to a C.L.A.Y. counselor you'd get gutted like a fish, and scalped like an injun - oh, it looks like he hung up. Well, I suppose it's time for my dentist's appointment anyway..."

Flintstones Meet Jetsons

Wilbur, I'm home. What a charlatan web we weave.
Every snowflake is unique, unlike every time that phrase is used.
My knife is my baby- my baby is my knife.

I've recently taken up weaving - bought a hair loom
really threw my family for a loop
swoop and pull. The kicker? Laces were out.
Lollipop, tie a bunny's ears in knots
and put it in a bin with the other loonies.

Better late than never. Too soon forever.

Yours truly,
Trevor

Piecemeal Survival

Every piece of meal is an act of survival. At the revival factory,
things wound.  It's true that we ate each other's food. It's true
that we too were just cubs.  There are men with knives

who like to caress their knives.  It's hard to picture
them as pink little dumpling babies. But we get old
and live in specific neighborhoods.  It would be too much

to survive all at once, like a deep sea diver rocketing
on a camel near Bluto.  You turn me right, round.
No human can be dancer.  It's true that we dance.

Lumineers

Them boys are nothing like the lit-candle kids. Lumineers
is basically glossy smiles on middle-aged moms, & have nothing

to do with the sun.  Some people would strum on your ass all day.
Some people are in the "alternative energy sector," which is noble

actually, energy activism, you know? A kind of unfucking of the whole sport?
Random guys and acid parts, intestinal fortress men? Our Heavy Deeds

& the "better life" if you would. Would you? Fuck you. Would you?

Pie a la mode

"Close the shutters!" screamed the bellhop, "everybody scream!" Circuitous misdirection, you see. There was no one outside, nothing to be seen inside. It was an unannounced game of Simon Says. A game the bellhop was scarily good at. Over half of the guests unwittingly lost went they raced to close the shutters and the rest were out when they began to scream. There are only so many shutters in the hotel.