A definitely wrong spirit of Christmas

As they pulled up at home after a jaunt to the grocery, another car scuttled out the other end of their driveway.

They didn’t recognize the vehicle or the figures who had hopped in a split-second earlier, but the action certainly was suspicious.

Then they found one Christmas wreath on the ground beside the barn and another, still hanging on the white clapboards, with its wires quite bent.

Yes, two people were trying to steal the Christmas wreaths from the siding!

Kinda puts a damper on that “goodwill to men,” doesn’t it? Though the phrase is, more accurately, “to men of good will.”

We’re still baffled that some people have so little conscience that they’ll resort to this, but maybe they’re desperate to veil themselves in images foreign to their real nature.

Um, look around, though, and it’s far more universal than I want to think.

This points toward the hard work of changing hearts and actions – literally, repentance – that the life of Jesus embodies.

Well, I won’t go off on that sermon just now. But we are still saddened by the audacity of ill will.

KEEPING THE COMPANY IN CHECK

Across New England, the spire on city hall typically had prominent clock. Its purpose, I’m told, wasn’t just civic pride.

No, it was to keep the mill owners in check, just in case they were tinkering with their own clocks to squeeze unpaid time out of their workers.

It’s comforting to know the town fathers could stand up to corporate powers. Most of the owners, by the way, lived far from these sources of their wealth. Many of them were Boston Brahmins clustered around Harvard.

In honor of the workers and those who stand up for them, Happy Labor Day.

FAMILY VALUES

Mrs. Richardson had been yelling at the kid
the fifth-grade girl who came around to our door
begging money to pay the babysitter

Mrs. Richardson yelled at the grandchild
for three days, and spanked her

then they were crying, in different parts of the building
all the while, their phonograph repeated
“the angels sing, glory to the newborn king”

~*~

Mrs. Richardson was pale as death
her face, hollow as a skull; hair, powder gray
her lips were chalky, and the eyes barely moved
she was thin as a broomstick

her son returned, with a cardboard suitcase
and cowboy boots
he wouldn’t stay long, if he could help it

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Copyright 2015

 

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE QUOTATIONS BLUR?

When someone speaks of an event while quoting someone else, how accurate is that quotation? How much is a recasting by the teller, perhaps years after the event being related?

In drafting my newest novel, as I turned to a first-person narrative by someone who never even met many of the characters she’s telling about, I realized that her quoting them was actually a filtering through her own voice. In other words, the precision of their voice was in question. Would it be right to put their input in quotations marks? Or eliminate the quotation marks and let the telling float in and out of some recollection?

I’ve opted for the latter. Will it work for the reader, though? We’ll see.

WANT DO YOU WANT FOR QUARTERS?

All the fat girls in town
had congregated in this Laundromat
to giggle at a skinny hippie.

When they sat, mouths agape,
stomachs bulged more than their breasts.
Everywhere, there’s a pecking order.

The manager in her blue scarf and coat
fluttered in to chase neighborhood children out.
“They mess the place up. I don’t want them.”

Kids, kids, kids, she muttered
raking in quarters – all this bitterness
robed in garments of honey and bees.

As for me, another day,
another dollar, down the drain.

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Copyright 2015

BUT THAT’S NOT EVERYTHING

in the median strip of Route 17 just north of Pennsylvania
Paula and I found a road map of Fayette County, Tennessee
“you wanna talk about getting lost?”

all these vehicles entering a busy traffic circle
are just a matter of shuffling cars . as the matron confided,
“Harry and I used to go down to Buffalo” to do this or do that

careening along curving roads, I saw the moon
swallowed and released over mountains . “she’s
a nice girl who does well in school, but that’s not everything”

or we could have just stopped at a
BAR DINING ROOM
flashing in orange and green neon

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Copyright 2015

 

REGARDING THE GATE HOUSE AT BLODGETT’S CANAL AND LOCKS

Thoreau turned upstream on the Merrimack
rather than to the ocean

before heading back

~*~

needles and rotting leaves
the floor of the stream steep
water the color of tea

it’s a dangerous
river that was home

shores denuded
when tall pines older than the railroad
were felled to make way
for fiber optic cable

they say you log on
in its branching current

owls and herons take him away
above the hydroelectric turbines

~*~

landing adventurously
perhaps to shout

I remember where you are

the cuisine isn’t that much different
than our second city together

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Copyright 2015