Checkmate
She pulls on her dark hosiery and then her shoes,
adjusting her blouse to cover her ample cleavage,
putting lipstick on her slightly puff-pouty lips,
she checks her reflection in the mirror once more.
Katey was understandably apprehensive
going to see a new dentist for a needed root canal,
but that didn’t stop her from wanting to look nice
as she drove to the clinic without looking back.
The dentist eyes her tooth and more as she relays her fears
of needles and pain, so he tells the assistant to knock her out.
Stepping out to read the x-rays, he thinks the drugs are given.
But the drug case is empty, and the nurse leaves to get more.
Seeing her eyes closed with the assistant gone, he can not resist
slipping a hand under the bib, he fondles her breast, just one.
Then a surprise hockey check as the tool tray hits his jaw
connecting with a satisfying pop, sending his front tooth flying.
Katey stands up, removing her bib to reveal her cleavage,
smiling a still painful smile, she picks up her purse,
not bothering to glance back, strutting her Pradas out the door,
understandably appreciative of the damage she’d done.
Intrepid Spirit Vibe
Closing her eyes,
she raises her head toward the sky,
a fortune teller rubbing an orb,
mumbling a chant protecting her
from the harm she fears
in this evil place.
For sixteen years
she held the premonition
of the giving or taking
of life or death
knowing it all depended
on her ability to remain calm.
Images of a lone child’s shoe
lying in the road,
too real to be a simulation,
a haunting reminder
of the cost of speed.
A trail of blood
led her eyes down the road
beyond the curve
where the guardrail should be,
but she diverts her eyes
trying not to see
the writing on the wall.
He interrupted her.
His voice as unsure
and fearful as hers,
“Your number’s up.”
She bursts out a nervous laugh
trying to cover her qualms.
“Oh, my god. That is my number.”
Gathering her courage,
her footsteps walk forward.
Innocently, she begged,
“Please, just tell me quickly.
I can’t wait any longer.”
“Your responses told us
what we needed to know.
Your numbers all add up.
Take this card to the other counter.
Congratulations.
You passed your driver’s test.”
Her father sighs
as he shakes his bald head.
So she rubs it again,
just one for the road,
and grabbing the keys,
she jumps with a scream
that could wake the dead.
Calm After the Storm
First, just the ground felt soggy.
Worms swimming to the top
gathering with friends
lamenting the end of their world.
Sloshiness made it difficult to walk.
My shoes couldn’t decide
if they wanted to stick or slide.
I was a poor break dancer.
With time the deluge came.
Staring into the greyness
God and I grieved together
knowing my marriage was over.
Our home, a lifetime of treasures,
memories of children and pets,
willingly sacrificed to you
as I moved to higher ground.
Message Delivered
The rain insisted that they dig in the closet
looking for something, anything,
that could provide some entertainment.
They pulled out a cardboard box
covered with two blankets,
loaded with mismatched socks and a mirror.
Rules of the game gave extra points
if they got a direct under-the-blanket hit,
a smack in the face with a rolled up sock bomb.
Holding the now-broken mirror under their noses
gave them the upside-down illusion
of precarious stairways, screaming as they fell.
Dragging the empty box to the top of the stairs
trapped inside and sliding down
with only the radiator to ambush their path.
Mom finally called that the sun was out
meaning stomachs can slide on slippery grass
while cardboard boats float in the gutter.
She was the only one sighing pent up relief
with an anguished thought stuck in her mind
and she couldn’t stop pondering.
God was no sister Goddess of hers,
no woman could be that scheming cruel,
proving himself another vindictive man.
He must have seen as she kissed the mailman,
started the rain, trapping her husband at work,
leaving her alone with eight torturous kids.
God Damn.
DRAFTED
“I want to smoke.”
She sighed. “You know you shouldn’t.”
“I want to smoke.” His voice was labored. “Doesn’t matter now.”
“Okay. I’ll help you.” She set his hands firmly on the potty’s side grips curling his fingers around to help him hold on. Her feet shuffled quickly into the living room reaching for the opened pack of cigarettes next to the recliner before rushing back. She took another deep breath, thankful he hadn’t fallen off. Their eyes met and she blinked back tears before pulling a cigarette out and lighting up for him. Her fingers held the cigarette to his opened mouth and his lips settled around it. She waited watching the smoke curl past his closing eyes.
“Aren’t you going to smoke?”
His head turned slowly away. “I can’t. I can’t. I need to lie down.”
She snuffed the cigarette out next to the others unsmoked in the ashtray. Then she began the task of cleaning him up. Her shoulder ached with the memory of all the other times he leaned on her, but this last week felt different. She could feel his emancipation, his shoulder bones pressing against her with little soft tissue between them. When she was done her lips kissed twice the cheek she shaved earlier that morning before passing her arms under his armpits and entwining her fingers together to lift him to standing. They stood together for a moment, each gathering what strength they could before she reshifted her support. They shuffled to the couch where the indentation of his pillows welcomed him back. His arm waved in the direction of his oxygen machine so she connected his tubes and turned on the familiar hum before sitting down in the recliner next to him. His eyes closed and she watched his chest rise and fall quickly in comforting sleep. She allowed herself a minute to watch the morning birds through the window pecking at seeds on the lawn before she caught a quick nap as well.
Choking, gurgling sounds woke her minutes later and she was again at his side. She pulled off his oxygen mask and tried to get him to sit up, but he pushed her efforts off. “No. No.” She could feel his fear and her mind raced with the uncertainty of what she should do. His hand reached for her and she held it to her cheek. “I’m afraid,” he said.
“I know. Should I call again?” The number to hospice lay next to the phone within her reach.
“No. No. Just you.”
Her eyes had to blink the flash flood away, and she talked through guarded breaths, “Yes. Yes, just us.”
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