Sunday, February 20, 2011

What is a Best Friend?


            Coming from a friend’s 21st birthday celebration at Pat O’Briens, Sean pulls into Marc’s driveway in his two toned rust and dust 1993 Geo Metro. He stumbles out of the car, Hurricane in hand, and walks to Marc’s front door. Knock once, and no answer. Knock again, Marc swings open the door with joy to see his best friend, all with hopes that he remembered to pick up the desserts that Marc pre-ordered. Empty handed and covering up his intoxication, Sean tells Marc that he just happened to completely forget about the dessert. Miscommunication aside, the two pals walk to Marc’s kitchen, where Marc’s hopefully future fiancée Kara and Sean’s older sister Mary are having their own early night symposium on the latest Cosmo and People magazines. While the ladies talk about their unfortunate lives in comparison to A-List celebrities, Sean helps Marc clean the dishes from the three’s to be family dinner of Chicken and Andouille Gumbo with a side of freshly baked garlic bread. With the dishes completed and a girlfriend’s sweet tooth that even Willy Wonka could not solve, Marc volunteers to pick up their pre-ordered cheesecake.
            He gets into his prized 1998 Eddie Bauer Expedition and covers the slack of his best friend just like and good friend would do. Marc gets to Copeland’s Cheesecake Bistro, hoping that their Bananas Foster Cheesecake they ordered is still available and the restaurant still open. Much to his dismay, Copeland’s is closed, so he is forced to make a clutch decision. Winn-Dixie is right around the corner, so he ventures there to see what options are available. His perfect night of proposal is all falling apart like the end of a competitive Jenga game. With the Winn Dixie bakery closed with nothing out for purchase, Marc buys a six-pack of Abita Amber for him and Sean to enjoy if the girls are still complaining about their sex lives.
            Marc and his hemi engine roll into his driveway from a almost completely unsuccessful trip. He opens his door and accidentally knocks over the trashcan, awaking just about every dog in the neighborhood. He swings open his house’s weather beaten front door. His wallet hangs from the right side of his mouth and a six-pack at the end of his left arm. In his head is the image of his future fiancée along with the tune of her favorite song, Sweet Caroline. In his right hand are his keys on his index finger and an engagement ring in his palm. Marc walks into a vacant kitchen and a note from his sister saying that she felt sick and needed to go home, at which he hears the sound of a window from his bedroom slammed shut. He races across the house to his bedroom and keys open the door. He finds Kara lying on the bed nude and in tears, knowing of her actions exposed. The only sounds Marc hears are the lub-dub of his heart, the putt-putt of an ill cared for car speeding away, and the clink of the ring hitting the tile floor. They say nothing. 

Friday, February 11, 2011

Since January 7th 1973



Since January 7th 1973

11:00am –
            Ace and his seven-man unit surge out of their squad van and into the double doors. Ace’s knowledge is bleak, only knowing that there is one man wreaking havoc amongst the occupants and rescue workers inside. Bellhops and maids flee the hotel with tears and ash on their faces. His unit makes way to the staircase, with heartbeats louder than the fire alarms screeching though the halls…
            He counts the bullets as they fire, and the men in blue as well. All of this in hope to avenge what he sees as corruption. He enters a seemingly vacant room, bypasses the two African American housekeeping workers, and looks out the window to see two men with the crescent and star on their chest. Soon the .44 folds the badge and like a poorly made paper airplane, the men fall off their ladder. He enters the stairwell and heads to the rooftop…

11:15am-
            The assailant hears Ace and his unit ease open the six inch metal door atop the Howard Johnson. At this, he turns around and riddles the door with his military issued M-16 Rifle. The bullets stop, and the clank of the clip falls to the cement rooftop. Ace takes the cue, and charges at the shooter. With a leap forward, Ace takes a shot that rips through his thigh and soars into the clouded sky. Ace comes down onto the shooter, and avenges the loss of his brothers in blue lost that day; one 9mm to the shin and one to each shoulder. His unit and the helicopters finish the job…
           
            Seven days into 2003, the once off white and orange, stands beige. Resting on its side, a clarinet. And so, playing its own tune to hide the echoes of gunfire from that day. Seven days into 2003, the once medal adorned man in navy, stands guard with a royal apron saving nothing but the glares given to him when greeting a man with a simple “welcome.” And so, welcoming only the ability to forget the echoes of gunfire and anguish experienced that day

Friday, February 4, 2011

Prose Poetry


On Food
Processed beef, sesame seed bun, lettuce, diced onion, mystery sauce; deep fryer, red heat lamp, left out for hours at a time, crispy golden strips; halibut, cod, and drum mined mystery meat; safely cradled in a square cardboard box.
Beef, beans, sweet and spicy brown sauce, tortillas, forty-seven ways.
Square patties, bits scattered about the floor, thrown into the ten-gallon chili batch. Obesity rate?

On Love
What makes a princess? Is it her beauty, her woo, her fame, her fortune? What makes a prince? Is it his strength, his wit or lack there of, his rescue of his maiden? What is it that makes a princess tale? Is it the journey of the prince, the oppression of the damsel, the rescue from her lofted lodging?
And the princess paradigm exists. “Roy, you lazy prick, the car won’t start!” “I’m coming darling!”