Fiction

“The Bottle Toom Sequel” (Rough Draft #ad05241974 in progress)

 

“You’ve been held.
Obsessively since adolescence.
And this— This is the
Acme-appateaser - ”
thanks.
“Oh! And - you’re my personal
Source of hot, creeping dread.
And the Cobb Sal - Oh, perfect!
Midge has your meat!”ϒÐ
—Thanks.
“I mean she’s brought out –
Oh, you’re welc - uh,
The meat plate
For you.
For me!”
(server, after some kind of overly long pause,
effortlessly flashes what may be the most beguilingly
lovely smile, which she will sustain for the eater
what would be for anyone…
oh…uncomfortably…
too long.
for me, so
As you finish your Porterhouse steak –
(Sucking on another Pabst. Hm.) - by
The way…awful nice being your server tonight.
Oh, thank you!
Finally, as you make
The last Porterhouse piece
Disappear down your ugly mouthhole
From behind and into your head
I be the one driving A meat cleaver, hun.”

It finally becomes Crystal clear
That you have a Candle Problem.
The candles on every table in
The Steakhouse: stoicism
Yes. Vanilla scented.
And, yes, it’s true :
All of them sitting;
Ever-eating their Mumble.
Trying not to scream funny
Hope too see ya, too.
You’ve never ventured, erm, you know…
Outside Daddy’s county. And, well…
I think that’s a shame.
And I suppose while I’m at it
(this mildly imperious –
a bit entitled-seeming, yeah.)
I think I’ll repeat something to you:
I think that’s a shame –
Yes.

I think you became boring.
Understand that it is yr narrow, ever darkening,
Staunch rigor in that stance;
That posture you plant
Pretty much anywhere and everywhere.

The black soil of this county favors one such
As you - you, again like yr Daddy –
Freaking standing: tall, straight, arms crossed.
Just gazing into a middle distance
That has never been
Even a little interesting.
You are this statue: silent, dreary with
Your County thoughts.

Still.
Stand.
Static.
(Industrial Arson March 1, 1975, Shelton, Sponge Rubber products factory complex)

Standard

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