Apricocks... Be kind and courteous to this gentleman; Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes; Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, To have my love to bed and to arise; -Shakespeare: Midsummer Night's Dream
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
What'd I Do?
What'd I Do?
Editors don't want experiment.
"What'd I do," comes my mother's voice,
What did I do?
Keep it mainstream; rhyme is OK.
Say it clearly.
Ring. Hello.
Mom is in the hospital.
Pneumonia.
The way you handle time is crucial.
Time passes. Mom heals. Then,
Ring. Mom is in the ICU. She fell.
In the hospital?
An attendant dropped her.
Broke her hip.
She was to leave tomorrow.
Now they have to operate.
Drive. Drive. The endless empty road to
Savannah.
The way you handle space and spacing... crucial.
From the ICU,
"Another day in paradise."
First words Mom says as they remove the breathing tube.
"What'd I do?"
Each day, every day, the same sentences.
Then, "Sue the fuckers."
Avoid obscenity if you want to publish.
Good, rich diction.
We return home.
Mom stays in the hospital
A week
Until they haul her to a nursing home,
Hip not healed, yelling obscenities,
Wanting home.
Keep it short and sweet.
Ring.
Mom is dead.
What? Dead. Friday.
Cardiac
Arrest.
--Jack, December '08
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