Gladys the Neighbor

Such potential was mine
That I gave it up to marry
And live on
Morning Glory Circle.

What are those neighbors doing?

I tried my best
But the day got in the way
With laundry and dusting
And making sure Abner was happy.

What are those neighbors up to?

The pills help a little bit
But not very much
While the vodka starts pouring
Earlier and earlier each day.

Those neighbors are up to something!

Such potential was mine
That I gave it up to marry
To be the paragon of happy
And perfect. I know I can work
Anytime I want to. Easy.

What is it with those neighbors?

Floyd Cuts Hair

Main street is where the action happens
And I am its witness.
Buses drop off folks from all around
As I watch the Daily Parade.

Arrivals and departures
Comings and goings.
Here I sit on my bench
In front of my shop.
I cut hair.

An education was not for me
With academics barely in reach.
Friends became mechanics and cops
Others lawyers, accountants, the marines.
And by the grace of God, not a drunk like Otis.

Surely a barber is a fine trade
For a fellow like me.
I like my customers who like my service.
We sit on a bench in front of my shop
As we watch the parade of buses.

Arrivals and departures
Comings and goings.
Tomorrow I open the shop.
Another fine day
To cut some hair.

Sam the Butcher

She’s not very good looking
My Alice
And the uniform she wears
Just accentuates this all the more.

But when she comes to the shop
And orders her chops
It’s all extra prime
At no extra cost.

A flank, a rib, a roast, a random chicken
All hers alone and just for the asking.

Sometimes we go bowling
Sometimes to the movies
And I want her for my own
To make her my bride.

But she demures to go home
And look after her tribe.
Perhaps I’d feel different
It’s the work that she does.

And that’s dedication
And that’s where it lies.
Which leaves me alone
Just me, my shop, the cuts
And all of my time.

Best Friend Larry

In my complex
My pal Jack lives
With two real hot women.

The mind reals with possibilities
And scenarios
Of this way and that.

I want what he has
To have and to hold.
But I live down the stairs
Where no one has been.

Dusty old beer cans, a spent magazine
Musty old towels, dishes not washed.
They litter the place, the place
That no one cares to visit.

I try to make time
And am always rebuffed.
Notice that I am still looking
To be noticed.

Not one is aware
That my passion just grows
For a glimmer of touch
From the opposite sex.

Look at me looking and lusting
When all that I want
Is to reach out my hand
And put it in yours.

Max the Fixer

I have done things of which I am not proud.
Running with a rough crowd
We did as we wanted
We did as we pleased.

My skill kept me in demand
And demand was high.
Lacking empathy and sympathy
Lives could vanish without a blink.
Now by accident of fate
Here I stand with no one left
Of my old crew.
Finished. Gone. Evaporated. Erased.

Skills I have and skills I use
For the aiding and abetting
Of a different breed of man.
Wealth is his and mine to secure
As I pry and procure
Whatever it takes.

Drive his car and deliver some goods
Cook his meal or pick up his clothes
Follow the horses, whatever it takes.
I used to run with a rough crowd
And trust me—some skills
Always come in handy.

Margaret Drysdale: A Five Part Rhyme

Those trash have no rights
To live just next door.
Oh, take away the sight
Of those damn wretched poor.

Red zones and deep schemes
Will keep them at bay.
This power is exclusive
On any old day.
A banker I married
And I am his wife.
What gives me great health
Is his access to wealth.

Boston rich, west coast bitch
Put them all in a 99% ditch.
I pay for my rights
To keep them from sight.

Those folks are insane
Don’t mutter their name.
Access they surely do not deserve.
(Citizens? I don’t think so)
What God damn nerve.