This Time


That’s another story, timing the pace to match the waste of time.

She makes a box of remembered sounds catapulting across the room

And stores them in measured rows of lines of time with tentacles reaching the floor

Its not the seemingly nonsense that drives her to beserk-dom but the seemingly sense it all makes

Take that and that she says and jousts her thoughts into the paper lid that forms the tray of her mind

Pulling it out like drawers in the mortuary the morgue the home of the funeral director and associates

Examining it like the rock collection of her youth the butterfly cases of the PhD the recipes snipped clipped

But that’s another story

This story speaks of wasted time lounging on chairs and couches in front of phone and TV ions

The dryer rocks the clothes dry the washer beats it clean knocking the detergent to the floor

It needs to be balanced that’s all but how how to balance she’s not the tools

The fridge ice frozen in the line and the disposal as well stopped in time no action from either all quiet

She’ll do it later get the guy who fixes things to come by and not fix it but say next time

And fixes something not broke and charges her anyway and cleans the gutters but sweeps the yard instead

Its this nonsense that makes the most sense padding around in hospital socks non slip to slip into his arms

What do you think a movie and dinner or just the sex you know the blood wont flow to both

And she hops on and hears her stomach growl it’s a trade he’ll do it next time the movie she means

The dinner ingredients dry up in the frozen fridge and she muscles the dryer to clean the vent

She’ll get the guy to come fix it but he doesn’t do appliances so he’ll fix something else that’s not broken

And says I wont charge you as much this time I’ll bring the brush to clean out the dryer so it can rock the clothes

But that’s the story the other story of her tender soft spots making memories in boxes pulled out like drawers

Her drawers on the floor as he rocks her like clothes in the dryer around and around up and down tumbled and dried

Moist to the fingertips her memories linger scent upon scent crouching to see why the fridge is frozen

Under the peas and the tiny ice tray frozen in dinosaur shapes are piles of ice in bags awaiting the storm

Take it all out take it all to the counter and you tube the answer to the quest but end up couched crouching

Not seeing what the camera shows so she’ll call the guy and he’ll help her put the peas back and not charge at all

This time

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Compolation of all the men that come in and out of my life to help as they can and take what the can.  I do not sleep with my handy man or the yard man but it makes a lovely transistion.

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allets's picture

Interesting Write

Good telling. Takes time to follow without punctuation though. Hmmm.... slc



djtj's picture


I purposely didn’t punctuate because I wanted a straight flow, kinda of slam poetry, I guess. I usually punctuate the hell out of my poetry, so I was trying something diff. Good note,though, thanks, for if I publish it. And the lines are long on my desktop and reads easier. Thank you again. Thanks for taking the time to plow through it. I’m reading it tonight at our open mic.