Women’s marches

don’t name goldfish

Goldfish were my Valentine’s day request

No roses please

They just don’t last

12 followed Lan home from Walmart

One already floating listlessly in the goldfish sachs

From the treacherous 3 block drive

(Kenneth scandalously fished them out of store tanks, no one would help them)

I proclaimed the floater, Otis.

My loud voice echoing along plastered walls

Making crowded fish in the bag flutter.

 

‘Do not name goldfish’

The Boys cried in unison.

There’s no future in it.

(you know goldfish only have an IQ of 3)

Wait at least until tomorrow.

I feared a massacre in their tiny glass cage.

But, still, named Floyd the Barber with a long flowing tail

And Barney the Betta.

Ernest T Bass has a fine black mohawk.

But he’s a bully.

I am considering putting him alone in a teacup

Already, they follow me as I walk around rooms

Goddess of Flakes

I click and whistle when it’s feeding time.

Their feeding  frenzy antics simultaneously

amuse and calm me.

Nevertheless.

Goldfish swim in the same water they poo in.

they die in clear, clean water

Kenneth says they have to cover foreign objects with their slime

so disaster is imminent.

 

tank water was so cloudy this morning

discount store filter stopped working

Otis died for reals.

 

Ernest ain’t looking too great

Aunt Bee has a damaged fin

Opie hides, buried in the rocks.

Still. others rush madly to greet

The Goddess of Flakes.

Do  my Tiny lives matter?

 

{÷} = $

Sighs of our tiempo.

my sisters, Ginny and Laura,

though a continent apart

in Cabo and Veracruz

together, recline on Sol’s  heated stones

pacified by Del Mar in Mexico.

while flurries pad Rocky.

mountain valley walls with feet of snow  .

aquifers diffusing.

through obstacles/ and (barriers).

to inundate faltering seas.

in time,

erasing every palisade and rampart.

oceans sing a  global song

to every winter.

escapee.

I’m yours.  $ave me.  $ave me.

save yourselves.   <                         >

 

 

 

Adventures of Pinocchio

The truth.” Dumbledore sighed. “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.”
― J.K. RowlingHarry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

I am a big fan of embellishing alternate truths

Shillyshallying between exaggeration and de-emphasizing

Trivialities like measurements of my weight or hips

The amount of sleep I got last night

How much water I (actually) drink

Or maybe, wind chills in depth of midwinter.

 

‘Course actual widths and breadths

Can’t be changed by repetition or recitation

And I can hear my mother on the phone

Empathizing in her soft, low sweet drawl

even though she doesn’t really believe me.

Some surveys say we tell two lies every day but

This strikes me as surprisingly low.

I have the feeling that people

Were insincere about the extent of lies

 

Accuracy & honesty wane while i stumble closer

To the approximate vicinity of Truth

It is much preferable to lean comfortably against hyperbole.

 

It’s quieter now that I have squelched (the Wicked) Jiminy Cricket

And the silence

Won’t bother me til early mourn.

Pinocchio and Jiminy Cricket by artist Kaws

 

Pinocchio and Jiminy Cricket by artist Kaws