KENNY IN THE CROSSWINDS

.

The Crosswinds ‘a bar and a cowboy shrine
Down on Commonwealth Avenue, due West,
Across from the Fullerton Airport sign.
Watch for Pintos and Cadillac classics.
Bring ID if you look under thirty.
.
A Bar-B-Q smokes right inside the bar
Next to booths and a stage and a dance floor
And she will be there, all alone so far
Glimpsing all of the drinkers and dancers.
Mostly she will be staring at Kenny
.
Of Kenny C. Pride and the Country Wide,
Up on stage with his eyes in the shadow
That falls from his black hat, a bona fide
Stetson. Smiling and fiddling while he’s
Singing “Could I have loved you forever?”
.
A barmaid goes up on her rendezvous,
Smiling, placing a note in his pocket.
He grins, “A request that I can’t refuse.”
“Now we’d sure like to bring up our good friend,
Teddy Bear, who will sing a few with us.”
.
A bear-sized young man bearing side-burned jowls
Climbs up lumbering with his own fiddle.
He bows to the band then he grins and growls
“Hey, y’all, why don’t’cha just grab a ‘C’ chord!
See if y’all can hold on!” (Man he’s wailing!)
.
And then she’s beside you and wants to dance.
Even if she is older than you are,
Who cares? Don’t her white lace and tight black pants
Git along with a long little doggie?
Say a prayer ‘cause you care for the prairie!
.
“A double-time Two-Step back-Left, back-Right.”
“Horse…!” Kick! “Shit!” Kick! And “Chicken..!” Kick! “Shit!” Kick!
“I hug pretty girls in the pale moonlight,
What do y’all think of Teddy Bear so far?”
“Bull…!” Kick! “Shit!” Kick! And Left-back and Right-back.
.
Well, shit, howdy! Kenny is in your space.
Now he’s taking her off of the dance floor.
He talks at her close to her pouting face,
Pointing right at you. How do you feel now?
Just like horse shit, chicken shit, and bull shit.
.
She points to the pocket the barmaid touched,
Then she snatches that barmaid’s note.
He snatches it back and he keeps it clutched,
Pointing right in her face with his finger.
Now she strolls to the bar and she sits down.
.
She’ll order a Screw Driver. That is planned.
Kenny Pride will be back in the stage-light.
“Unless I am wrong we’re the only band
Playing here at The Crosswinds except on
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday.”

.

.
#
.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~

WHERE THE HOURS CLANGED AND FELL


.

I hear a church bell summon the temporal
Above aspiring blades of grass.
A canorous cloak of charming syllable
Descends to gather us en masse.
And as the lawn-mower’s final pass
Disturbs the moment, time will tell,
With whispers from the hourglass,
Where the hours clanged and fell.
.
Disgorges the church bell so ineffable
Extolling what the din devours.
A neighbor passes with a Bible,
Rebounding from the earthen powers.
A haggard bee still haunts the flowers
As if a question to dispel
By hovering in this yard of ours
Where the hours clanged and fell.
.
That bell outranking from its pinnacle
The proud, rebellious, vain bright sky.
Appealing to the commonly sensible
By hear-say so to prophesy.
The game is interrupted by
Commercials trying to outsell
The other deals that justify
Where the hours clanged and fell.
.
So deep down into ink on pages
The Sunday Paper headlines yell,
Alarming us as history rages
Where the hours clanged and fell.

.

.
#
.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~

 

GABRIELLA

GABRIELLA

.

I’m on the midnight bus

To Los Angeles,

Gabriella,

I wrote a bad check

For my ticket, but what the heck?

Gabriella,

Could a fellow tell you more?

.

I’ll be there soon,

Riding near a full moon,

Knowing that I can’t stay,

Seeing you just one whole day.

.

Gabriella,

I could land in jail!

A bandit needs the anonymity

Of living in the city.

.

The sky is clay, the street is grey

Outside the bus station at the start of day.

Watching all the selves unfold,

Hearing the woman, who spat,

“Fuck you. I speak Spanish.

Watch your language!”, and like that.

To the astonished couple in blue

Who hold between themselves a suitcase or two.

.

She’s crazy say their eyes,

Rising above their dirty shirts

And the young man kneeling with his guitar

And the Navy nurses running for the buses

And the streets a taxi couldn’t find.

.

Welcome to this world of mine.

For a dollar you can park.

.

Gabriella,

You arrive like a smile into my face,

And we breakfast on the swaying pier.

We eat for $1.33 here.

Then two beers and some pool.

The surf is fair, but you’re a fool

To go out with so many surfers there.

.

Gabriella,

Both of us could just grin-and-bear

Surrounded by all these banks

While the bankers jog

And the fog is still in the air

And in my head.

.

133 Long Beach Boulevard,

Do you think that things are getting hard

Or hardly getting on at all?

.

Gabriella,

Not even you, my friend,

Will tell me in the end.

No matter how I spend my daily life away.

.

So I leave you by the moon’s eclipse.

And at 3 AM, when Orion arises, back home

The wind is warmer than your lips’ consent.

.

Things that never happened make me sigh.

.

Now is the hot morning of my discontent

And not a friend has stopped-by.

“Gabriella!”

I cry.

.

.
#
.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~

MERRY CHRISTOPHER


MERRY CHRISTOPHER

ستایش خداوند

.

The winter sun crept up through the pine trees along Morro Bay. The parking lot of the Morro Bay Realty office was a Christmas tree lot for a few weeks during the holiday season. The Morro Bay Realty office was a long mobile home. Owner Bill Bloch would earn extra money selling Christmas trees during this slow-down in real estate sales.

Merry Christopher with her 15-year old daughter Christina drove onto the Morro Bay Realty parking lot, their backseat stuffed like Santa’s sack with blankets, clothes, bags, and suitcases all of which were obscuring their rear window. There was a folded tent lashed to the car’s roof.

Merry Christopher parked her car and got out and approached Bill Bloch who was surveying his little forest of Christmas trees from the steps of the mobile home-office.

Bill smiled down on Merry and said, “Doesn’t look like you’re here for a tree.”

Merry tried to smile and said, “Hello. I’m Merry Christopher. I was wondering: would you have any work for me? Any at all?”

Bill looked past the top of Merry’s head toward her car stuffed with belongings.

Merry followed his gaze and then explained, “That is my daughter Christina. She’s fifteen. We’re… moving here to Morro Bay. And I just need to find a job.”

Bill mulled, “Moving without a job? Jeez, pretty bold. You know,… Morro Bay is a pretty small town. There isn’t much work at this time…,” then he asked, “Where are you staying?”

Merry answered, “In our car, it seems like. There are no vacancies at any hotels around here. We’ll be camping out along the coast somewhere,” then she added softly, “We’re getting used to it.”

Bill said, “Hey, maybe the hotels can use help?”

Merry shook her head, “I’ve asked. It seems most of the locals grabbed the ‘extra’ seasonal jobs.”

Bill said, “Yeah… when fishing is slow the locals do odd-jobs.”

Merry’s shoulders slumped.

Bill looked up. Cottony clouds sailed southeastward overhead as the river of cold air flowed from the incoming North Pacific storm system.

Bill said after a few thoughtful moments, “Well… I’ve got an empty office in the back of the mobile home. I suppose you could sleep there a couple days, OK. But…it really is just a mangy little room.”

Merry’s eyes lit up, “Oh thank you, bless you,…?”

Bill smiled, “I’m Bill. Bill Bloch. This is my business here. Just making a little extra money this time of year, you know.”

Merry reached up and took Bill’s hand in both of her hands and shook it, “Thank you so much. I didn’t want my daughter sleeping in a wet tent. I mean, I don’t care about myself. But she…”

Bill said, “Sure. The room’s just back here on this side.”

Merry trotted to her car and nodded at Christina’s questioning face. Christina hopped in her seat and then covered her face as she began to cry with relief.

Merry spoke to Christina through the door window as Christina rolled it down, “I didn’t get a job but we have a place to sleep.”

Christina said, “Oh. OK…”, and then in unison with her mother she said, “Day by day it’ll be OK, Thank you Jesus.” and they both smiled.

As Merry and Christina carried in their overnight essentials into the mobile home, passing Bill who held the door open, they both thanked him again and again and their eyes were red and glistening.

Bill muttered, “I suppose there could be work here….”

The inside of the long mobile home was cold. Merry and Christina shuffled past the office desk and files and on down the hallway to the vacant little room. It even had a little window that you could open by cranking. And they were right next to a little bathroom. Christina dropped her armload on the floor. Merry did the same. They both laughed with nervous exhaustion. Then Merry began to spread the sleeping bags into the corner and to stack her boxes and bags of toiletries.

Christina said, “I don’t want to complain but I’m freezing.”

Merry went into the narrow hallway and found the thermostat. She called to Bill, “Excuse me, Mr. Bloch, would it be OK to turn up some heat? My daughter is cold.”

Bill couldn’t help calculating the increase in his heating bill but he said, “Sure. It’s going to be a cold storm tonight. Just close as many windows as you can…”

Merry went back into the little room and kneeled with Christina on their sleeping bags. They prayed. Then Merry hugged Christina and they both laid themselves next to each other on the sleeping bags, just to relax a minute, and Christina wept herself to sleep.

Merry got up carefully and went into the little kitchen area carrying a bag. In the kitchen she unpacked a jar of instant coffee and a little box of sugar and a box of powdered milk.

She asked Bill, “Do you mind if I boil some water for coffee?”

Bill said, “No. In fact make a pot.”

Merry found a stained coffee pot in the little cupboard and rinsed it out as best she could, then she filled it with water and turned on the little gas burner on the little stove. She stood and stared at the refraction of currents in the heating water.

When it began to boil Merry spooned-out instant coffee and stirred the coffee pot. She judged the strength of the coffee by the aroma it gave off. She could feel the current of warm air from the heating system upon her face and she began to feel cozy.

Outside a pick-up truck loaded with some more trees pulled into the parking lot.

Bill Bloch waved at the driver who was getting out of the truck, “Hey, Darius. Hey, ‘Dar he is’!”

The slender swarthy man getting out of the truck stood tall and said, “Yes, always amusing, my friend. These are the last of my trees.”

From the passenger side of the truck three young boys danced out. Darius said, “My sons, do not go far. We must unload these trees and then we are done.”

Bill waved, “Hello, boys.”

The three boys answered shyly, “Hello, Mr. Bloch.”

One boy said, “Can I have a drink of water?” the second boy said, “Me, too,” and the third boy, the youngest, said, “I need to use the bathroom.”

Bill nodded, “Sure,” and the three boys bounced up the steps of the mobile home-office and entered.

When the three boys saw Merry near the stove sipping coffee they halted and stared shyly.

Merry said, “Hello, there.”

The two older boys mumbled, “Hello, ma’am,” but the youngest boy cried, “I need to use the bathroom!” and he pushed past his brothers and Merry stood aside and waved him clear to proceed down the narrow hallway.

Darius entered the mobile home and upon seeing Merry he said, “Oh.”

Merry said, “Hello.”

Darius said, “I am Darius Rouhani,” then he grinned and said, “Dar he is,” and then he said, “I see you have met my sons.”

Merry said, “I am Merry Christopher.”

The elder boy snickered and said, “You sound like Merry Christmas.”

Darius scolded his son, “Don’t be rude like that, ever!”

Merry was conciliatory and bent down to the boy saying, “My parents named me ‘Merry’, M-E-R-R-Y, not ‘Mary’ M-A-R-Y. They were religious but they had a strange sense of humor.”

Darius smiled. His son grinned and looked away, saying, “OK. I am sorry I was rude.”

Merry smiled, “Oh, you weren’t rude. You were a boy,” and she looked up at Darius who made a wry face.

Darius said, “This rude boy is my eldest son. He is thirteen. His name is Hormi. His brother next to him is Yazdeg. He is ten. And the youngest, he is eight, wherever he is… Peroz! Where are you?”

Peroz cried from the bathroom, “I am making a peef!”

Darius covered his eyes as his two sons beside him giggled.

Merry said, “That is OK. I have a daughter who is fifteen. Her name is Christina.”

Darius said, “OK, Miss Merry, you win. One daughter is more trouble than three sons.”

Merry laughed.

Darius asked, “Are you working for Bill, if I may ask?”

Merry shrugged, “With the grace of God, yes.”

Darius nodded and intoned, “KHOH-dah-rah SHOH-kr (Praise the Lord).”

Merry said, “Oh, I’m sorry, would you like some coffee?”

Bill, who had just entered, said, “Don’t bother. Darius likes his coffee Turkish. He likes coffee you can chew.”

Darius’ youngest son Peroz emerged from the bathroom just as Merry’s daughter Christina was exiting the little make-shift bedroom. Almost wedging together, Peroz looked up at Christina and said, “I am sorry I stink.”

Christina, hands in the pockets of her bulky sweater, hugged herself and asked sleepily of her mother, “What is up?”

Merry said, “Christina, this is Darius and these are his three sons…uh, …,” and looking at Darius she said softly, “I’m sorry…”

Darius came to Merry’s aid and said, “This young man is Hormi. This young gentleman is Yazdeg. And this…stinker.. is Peroz.”

Peroz was embarrassed and he said as he twisted himself, “Daaa-ad.”

Darius scolded, “Well, I heard you name yourself just a moment ago in the hallway. In front of a young woman.”

Bill spoke up, “Hey, everyone. It’s gonna start pouring any minute. Darius, why don’t you stay here for awhile? You don’t want to be driving with your boys in what’s coming,” and he bent over to address Hormi, Yazdeg, and Peroz, saying, “Why don’t you pick a Christmas tree and bring it in. We can decorate it.”

The three boys yelled, “Yah!” and then they looked sheepishly at their father Darius who scolded them with his expression.

Merry said, “I can help.”

Christina said, “I can, too.”

Merry whispered to Christina, “I don’t know if that is a good idea.”

Christina said to the three boys, “Let’s go before the flood!”

They all together unloaded the last of the Christmas trees from the pick-up truck and then they selected by acclaim the plumpest one that would fit in the mobile home-office.

As they maneuvered the chosen Christmas tree through the mobile home-office doorway the waves of rain began to strafe loudly upon the parking lot and upon the mobile home roof.

The three boys squealed with excitement at the loud popping of raindrops on the metal roof of the mobile home.

Bill got a box out of a closet and boomed, “Here are some tree decorations,” and then more softly, “I haven’t seen these since I … my wife…”

Hormi nailed the wooden cross support into the base of the Christmas tree as Yazdeg and Peroz held it horizontal.

Peroz chimed, “Smells so gooood.”

Bill said, “I’ll make hot chocolate for our hard workers and we big kids can have some ‘Tennessee Coffee’,” then he began to sing comically, “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack Daniels nipping at your nose…”

Hormi, Yazdeg, and Peroz erected the Christmas tree. Merry, Darius, and Christina began to place ornaments upon the higher branches.

Merry said to Darius, “The boys are so cute. It is a shame that their mother is missing this.”

Darius pursed his lips and said, “Their mother is no longer with us.”

Bill explained for Merry’s sake, “Darius and his wife were teachers in Syria. Darius was… is a Professor of Linguistics…”

Darius said, “I am a ranch hand on the Rossini Ranch. Mr. Rossini lets me harvest Christmas trees from his ranch.”

Merry said, “It must be a good place to raise three boys.”

Darius answered, “It could be worse.”

Merry said, “They seem so bright.”

Darius said, “Yes. They will become Engineers to please the memory of their mother.”

Merry said, “May I ask what happened to their mother?”

Darius said, “A Muslim man is allowed to marry a Christian woman, but a Christian man is not permitted to marry a Muslim woman. Islam means equality and no discrimination, but we were not permitted to marry. Aabirah was a mathematician. We both taught at the University of Aleppo. We married anyway and we had three strong sons.”

Bill could see that Darius had choked-up and so he continued on his behalf, saying, “During the civil war in Syria his wife… Aabirah… was killed when the government used poison gas on a group of rebels.”

Darius could speak again, saying, “She was not a rebel, she was just standing in the market place when they took her hostage. I took my sons and I fled Syria. It was a miracle that I was allowed sanctuary in the United States…”

Merry could only say softly, “Praise the Lord,” and then she offered as a way to change the mood, “My Christina wants to be a Minister.”

Darius turned to Christina and said, “That is fine. Do you know that ‘Christopher’ means ‘bearing Christ’? In your heart.”

Christina smiled and nodded and then she whispered to her mother, “And even Jesus was homeless and persecuted.”

Bill handed Darius and Merry each a cup of ‘Tennessee Coffee’. Suddenly they were all again aware of the drumming rain.

Hormi, Yazdeg, and Peroz were watching the rain through the mobile home windows.

Peroz said, “I can see the Christmas tree in the window! It looks like it is out in the parking lot.”

Christina sat beside her mother as Merry, Darius, and Bill sat down to talk.

Bill said, “So, Merry. Moving here without a job…? What is your story?”

Merry glanced at Christina and said, “Not much. My second husband, Christina’s step-father, was a God-fearing man at first. Then he became mean to us. He was especially… mean… to Christina. I couldn’t take it anymore. I left with what I could cram in my car. We’ve been living like transients for months…”

Darius said, “I am so sorry. You are a good person. God can be so mysterious with his intentions.”

Suddenly, there was a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder. Hormi, Yazdeg, and Peroz squeeled loudly, “Whoa!”

Christina glanced over at the boys and nervously parted her bulky sweater and then she began to rub her little pot belly with both hands.

Darius saw this and he turned to Merry.

Merry was observing Christina with concern. Then Merry turned and met the eyes of Darius which held his question.

Merry returned the answer to him with her eyes.

Darius then realized just how ‘mean’ the step-father had been to Christina. Darius suddenly asked Merry, “Do you know anything about horses?”

Merry was surprised and answered, “Yes. My parents had horses. They were my responsibility for years.”

Darius continued thoughtfully, “Mr. Rossini needs someone to care for his horses now that Mrs. Rossini is… not able to give them the attention they need. There is even a small bunk-house next to the stables where you could live decently for a while. I could speak to Mr. Rossini…”

Bill was already a little drunk and he raised his coffee to Merry, saying, “You have risen!”

Merry scowled involuntarily at her benefactor, Bill, but she was thrilled and she tried to give a composed response to Darius, “That would be ideal, I think, … thank you…Praise the Lord…”

Darius continued, “In fact, on Christmas day Mr. Rossini hosts a big holiday Bab-A-Kew. You could come as my guest.”

Bill chuckled, “That’s Bar-B-Que.”

Darius said, “You come too, Bill.”

Merry turned to Christina and said, “Did you hear that?”

Bill was answering Darius, “Naw. On Christmas day they always hold a reservation for me at the Sassy Wok.”

Christina said quietly, “Day by day it’ll be OK, Thank you Jesus.”

Christina rubbed her little pot belly.

.

.
#
.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~

SAVING JESUS

SAVING JESUS

+

I am Ángel Nagual. I will be a man soon. My village, Campo de la Estrella (Field of the Star), was once a Spanish Misión (Mission) before the break with Spain a generation ago. The Spanish priests were persecuted after the revolution. My village now keeps our own faith in our own homes.

Into my village one late afternoon walked a poor man with his woman holding a child. My father, Patecatl , met these strangers outside of the old Capilla (Chapel). The red tiles of that Capilla were molded and baked by my people when they were slaves.

The man says to my father, “I am José Jacobeo. This is my wife María.”

Patecatl, my father, observes, “This is a hard road to travel on foot with a woman and a child.”

The man, José, says, “It is a hard road even with a horse. Our horse was killed by a puma.”

The woman, María, speaks up into the conversation of men, saying, “God, himself, compels our journey.”

My father says wryly, “Do you flee your God?”

José glances over his shoulder and he says, “God is our strength.”

María says urgently, “We flee Poncio Pilato.”

My father is surprised and then he smiles, saying, “Poncio Pilato is only a story that bandidos tell to their children when they are disobedient.”

The child in María’s arms begins to cry.

My father leans over the child and he whispers sweetly, “My name is Patecatl, little one. What is your name?”

María says, “We have named him Jesus.”

My father raises his eyes to María’s gaze.

José says, “For protection.”

María pleads, “We need a place to rest.”

My father reflects upon their fear and their supplication and he says finally, “Of course. Of course. The old Church is used for our livestock, but the altar stage is free and clean. Please. You are welcome to stay as long as you feel you must.”

Then my father turns to me and says, “Ángel, see to our guests, please.”

I lead José and María with their child Jesus into the old Church. The sheep and the goats stir in the straw. Chickens roost in the rafters and up on the old cast-iron arañas de luces (literally, spiders of lights, chandeliers). On the altar stage I spread clean straw for them. I leave them a basket for Jesus and a clay jar of water upon the altar. María places little Jesus into the basket upon a mound of straw. She covers her face. José comes to her side and holds her in a comforting embrace. I leave them to their privacy.

I return to my father in our room in the old Capilla. I ask him, “Father, who is Poncio Pilato?”

My father shakes his head slowly and says, “Poncio Pilato is a legend among the mestizos (half-breeds). He is a demon bandido, the saint of outlaws.”

I ask, “Is he like Yaotl (Aztec god, Sewer of Discord)?”

My father grimaces and says, “No. No, Yaotl rewards the valiant even as he is the patron of discord. Poncio Pilato is like the Spaniard’s Devil, or should I say, like the Devil’s son,” then my father snorts, “ …like the Spanish priests.”

I finally ask, “Why would Poncio Pilato chase two poor people and their child?”

My father answers me with a patient smile, saying, “He wouldn’t,” and then he offers me in consolation, “Unless they have something he wants.” Then my father pauses and he says to himself, “Or they have taken something from him.”

The sunset is blood red and my father observes, “There is a dust storm to the West.”

We hear a scream. It is María!

My father and I run from the Capilla onto the altar stage. There José is restraining María who reaches screaming toward the child in the basket upon the altar.

My father hollers, “What is wrong…?” but in that instant we see the scorpions!

An army of black scorpions is scaling the altar, climbing onto the child’s basket. The scorpions halt their advance in a halo radiating around the child Jesus. The innocent child is enchanted by his wiggling visitors and he laughs with delight and he reaches for the nearest scorpions. The scorpions raise their claws but they remain just out of the reach of Jesus.

Suddenly a voice rumbles from the road outside the Church, calling, “María!”

María now faints to the floor in the embrace of José.

My father hisses, “Wait here!” but I follow him out of the Church to the road.

There are horsemen shuffling on the dark road. A man rides forward. He is enormous. I gasp when I realize that under his sombrero he is wearing an Aztec sacrificial mask of jade mosaic. The plaster eyes stare relentlessly.

My father composes himself and asks, “What do you want from my poor village?”

The enormous horseman leans forward and says, “I want what is owed to me, priest. I am Poncio Pilato.”

My father holds his composure and replies, “I am not a priest. I am Patecatl, the medicine man. What do we possess that is owed to Poncio Pilato?”

Poncio Pilato answers saying, “The child.”

My father asks boldly, “How is that innocent child ‘owed’ to you?”

Then the other horsemen ride forward ominously. Poncio Pilato points to each rider as they come to his side.

Poncio Pilato says, “This is Despiadado.”

I realize in horror that his eyes are sewn shut.

Poncio Pilato says, “This is Avaricio.”

I see that instead of eyes there are gold coins in his eye sockets.

Poncio Pilato says, “This is Lujurio.”

I see that his mouth is elongated like a horse and his lips are enormous and his tongue hangs out.”

Poncio Pilato concludes stating, “The child is Lujurio’s. He was enticed by the nun María in her daydream as she pretended to pray,” and Poncio Pilato scoffs, saying, “She was a willing virgin.”

Behind us I hear José exclaim, “Then it is all true!”

My father and I turn to see José supporting the unconscious María.

José ponders out loud, “María said it was a miraculous conception. She was afraid. She came to me for protection. I, I was in love with her before she became a nun. I didn’t believe her, but I didn’t care. I still loved her. But it is all as she told me!”

Poncio Pilato laughs coarsely and says, “I have heard this story somewhere before!”

María regains consciousness enough to mutter, “What will you do with my child?”

Poncio Pilato leans forward and says quietly, “The child belongs to me now,” and then he laughs, “You were a good hen, but this huevo (egg) belongs to me. Me costo un huevo (literally, it cost me an egg, it cost me a hell of a lot)!

My father speaks up, “Poncio, tiene huevos (do you have balls) enough to wager?”

Poncio Pilato sits erect in his saddle and his horse snorts and stamps.

My father continues, “I wager that you have no power over the child Jesus since he is truly innocent. I wager that your minions, such as the scorpions, can not harm him because his blood is half evil.”

Poncio Pilato growls, saying, “Be careful with your last words, medicine man.”

My father is unafraid, saying, “Only María can give the child to you willingly. Am I right? All you can do is terrorize us into forcing María to yield him to you,” and my father turns toward María and stares.

María is dashed sober by my father’s implications, and she cries, “No! No, no!” and she pushes herself away from José’s loving grasp. She runs stumbling back into the Church. José cries, “María!” and regaining his balance he runs after her.

I look to my father and he turns to me and says, “Stay where you are.”

I hear María screaming. I hear José wailing.

My father says again, sternly, “Stay.”

I then see José stumbling back out of the Church and he falls to his knees before my father, wailing and pulling his hair, crying, “María is dead! She has thrown herself upon the altar and the scorpions devour her! María! What have you done? María! What have you done, Patecatl?”

My father turns back to Poncio Pilato who grumbles, “Medicine man, you are as ruthless as Despiadado.”

My father replies, “But my eyes are sewn open. Only sacrifice defeats evil. Only sacrifice is holy. We own nothing in this world except our will.”

I am transfixed by the words, by the will of my father.

José grovels inconsolable in the dust.

But another rider approaches from the darkness. I stumble backwards. It is María! Or what was once María.

Upon a horse the color of ash sits an apparition of María. From her eye sockets flow two springs of tears. She joins the horsemen of Poncio Pilato.

Poncio Pilato pronounces, “Her name shall be Lacrimosa,” and he turns to my father and says slyly, “You are very generous with the souls of others.”

My father replies, “Poncio Pilato, you do not have their souls. You have only their sins.”

And then Poncio Pilato and his horsemen rode away with the wind.

My father welcomed José to stay on with our village, but José was too heartbroken to remain for long. José left Jesus with my father and my father made me Jesus’s keeper. Jesus is a little brother to me now and I worry all the time about his fate.

.

.
#
.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~

ON THE DEATH OF JOHN LENNON


ON THE DEATH OF JOHN LENNON

.

“I’m shot! I’m shot!” plays loudly from the record console as John Lennon emerges from the fog and shadow. He covers his ears and stares at the source of the grotesque song.

A figure in a long robe of red appears from behind the record console. The figure reaches out his hand and the grotesque song is silenced.

RED-ROBED FIGURE

“A bit primal, but it was a big hit on earth.”

JOHN

“Who are you?”

RED-ROBED FIGURE (laughs and extends his hand)

“John Lennon, I am Jesus Christ.”

JOHN (shaking his hand)

“You?”

JESUS

“Do you remember?”

JOHN

“Yeah. I’m bigger than you again this December.”

JESUS (wincing)

“True. But your message is mine. That is, most of it is mine. Some rewording was necessary to reach your times.”

JOHN

“Yeah. Goo-goo Goo-joob, y’all. So this is Heaven? Excuse me but I didn’t expect…”

JESUS (gesturing all around)

“Heaven? No, John. This is the Heart. We all meet here.”

JOHN (angry)

“Fuckin’ expensive ticket-to-ride, Mr. J. C., sir.”

JESUS

“Hey, buddy, you went fast. The world cared. I went slow, speared, and naked.”

JOHN

“So who are you workin’ for now?”

JESUS

“I am still with the Self we all claim.”

JOHN

“Yeah? So are there guitars here or what?”

JESUS (smiles again)

“No. Whatever sounds you imagine can be made real. Just let it be.”

JOHN

“I’ve heard it before.”

JESUS

“Go on. Try it.”

JOHN (his eyes going misty. Oh, Yoko plays happily from the music console. It stops abruptly. He sighs.)

“Is..?”

JESUS

“No, John. Here we are still within Time. Yoko will be along later.”

JOHN (voice cracking)

“So what now, Big Brotha’?”

JESUS

“That is always for you to decide.”

JOHN

“Believe it or not, eh?”

JESUS

“Come on, John. All you need is love.”

JOHN

“All you’re gonna need is a good lawyer if you keep rippin’ off lines from my songs.”

JESUS AND JOHN (both laugh together)

.

.
#
.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~

THE BALLAD OF HARRY PALMS

THE BALLAD OF HARRY PALMS

.

His life was sweet no more because
His job two years ago
Was lost in economic storm.
Now, he was out of dough.

The winter came to reap his shame,
Unwelcome as he was,
Within his daughter’s basement, where
“Apply for Santa Claus”,

His daughter and her boyfriend gnawed,
“You’ve got to pay some rent!”
“But, we are Jewish!” Harry kvetched.
Yet up the stairs he went

Into the hall and out the door.
The blizzard was a shock.
The once and future Harry Palms
Behind him heard the lock.

His breath condensed into his beard,
His cheeks with cold did burn.
He got onboard the empty bus
Some money for to earn.

He got out at the Shopping Mall;
The stores so gaily lit.
Before he could apply himself
He had to give a shit.

Beside the bathroom stalls he stopped
And saw two men a’kissing.
He grabbed their collars, banged their heads.
They beat him. Teeth a’missing,

Still Harry Palms had got the job
Of Santa Claus, First Shift.
“I guess my life is now complete”.
His pride he had to sift,

Like cat-box turds, beside his bed,
The night he set the clock
For five AM to catch the bus.
He couldn’t find his cock.

As Santa Claus he did preside
Above the World Toy™ scenes
For Children of Jerusalem,
Sponsored by Marines.

All day long the shoppers climbed
To leave their gifts of toys
And sit their children on his lap.
He almost lost his poise

When three young Persian girls appeared
In line to visit him
Dressed like ornaments with jewels
And voices like a hymn.

“I am Sofa Kush” one spoke
“And these, my sisters, be
Avesta and Daeva”. Wise
Beyond her beauty she

Was dressed in gold, Avesta white,
And Daeva shaped in red.
The three of them leaned to his ears
And this is what they said:

Daeva: “Listen closely now,
To warn you we have come”.
Avesta: “Toys you gather here
Will harm Jerusalem”.

Said Sofa: “It’s the TNA”.
But Harry looked bemused.
“The Terror Net Alliances.
And we three stand accused

Of being traitors to our lords;
Mawlas, to whom we’re wives,
Will surely stone us three to death.
We offer you our lives:

Please help us save Jerusalem.
Allah’ cannot want this:
There are the toys that will explode
And open the Abyss.”

Poor Harry sat there so confused
Because their Sirens’ voice
Had spun enchanting arabesque
That left him with no choice

But to believe them; was he nuts?
They clearly were afraid
Of something that was going down
That wasn’t a charade.

He turned to find the host Marine
Did have his weapon drawn
And pointed at his geezer brains.
The three young girls were gone.

The mothers screamed and children ran
In chaos so appalling
The soldier had to drop his gun;
The Christmas Tree was falling

Onto his head. The needles rained
And stuck him in the eyes.
He fell down to his knees and screamed
Vile curses to incise

Whoever had pushed o’er the Tree.
He swore in Farsi tongue
To cut the heart of those who laughed:
Three Persian girls so young

They could not hide their merry laugh,
For they had done the deed
To no Marine: a terrorist
Who thought he could mislead.

Poor Harry Palms had tumbled back
And fallen from the lair
Of Santa Claus, onto the floor,
At circling stars to stare.

“You must arise and follow us”,
He heard the Angel say.
She looked a lot like Sofa Kush
And so he did obey.

Into the Manger Scene they fled
And lifted Baby Jesus.
A trap-door opened at their feet,
So down there Harry squeezes.

Below, past tense and present fear
A tunnel lead them out
The Service Exit Door. The girls
The parking lot did scout

As if they knew what should be, they
The World Toy™ truck did see
Without a guard nearby. Not luck:
Avesta had the key.

So off they went with reckless speed.
On, Daeva! Sofa Kush!
Avesta! And on, Harry Palms,
But watch your sorry tush!

“Where do we go?” did Harry cry.
He saw they were pursued
By someone in a Cadillac.
He was not in the mood!

His basement room seemed pretty good,
Retreating in his mind.
If he could just get out of this
He nevermore would find

A fault within his broken life.
It always can be worse!
To Harry, like the Bible’s Job,
Jehovah seemed adverse,

Because just then they overturned
The World Toy™ truck and smashed
Right through the lobby, where the staff
Of Trumpet Towers dashed.

A shroud of smoke concealed the four,
Untangled from debris.
Avesta, Daeva, Sofa Kush,
And Harry all did flee

Into the elevator car,
Penthouse Floor they keyed
To where the Persian girls did live.
It cost not chicken feed.

But suddenly their motion stopped,
The elevator dead
One floor below the penthouse suite.
They exited instead

And ran into the studio
Of KABL Radio.
The three girls knew the DJ well.
The DJ exhaled, “Whoa”.

Kid KABL Rock, as he was known,
Did listen to the girls
As he stared at Santa Claus,
His stoner mind in whorls.

He locked-up tight the studio
In record time, for then
Upon the door fell pounding fists
Of several angry men.

Kid KABL Rock was monitoring
The evening TV news
That pictured Harry (Santa Claus)
“Police uncovered clues

That Santa Claus had helpers who
Conspired to steal each toy
Donated for Jerusalem
Baseerah, Hebrew, Goy.”

The World Toy™ lawyers fed the news
And Sofa Kush just knew
They had to broadcast their own side
To rescue what was true.

Kid KABL Rock was ‘way ahead
And sat down at the mike
To spread the “Siege of Santa Claus”
Which children wouldn’t like.

The children listened everywhere
To hear their hero speak.
Kid KABL Rock laid down the scene
And it was getting bleak:

“Our door those men are battering down,
With force to hit home-runs.”
Kid KABL Rock beseeched the kids
To get their parent’s guns.

“Come up to Trumpet Towers, all!
To station KABL Rock!
Help us to save Santa Claus!”
He rallied them ad hoc.

Avesta cried “Time’s running out!”
But Daeva had a scheme,
“If Kid can hack the broadcast net
We can send a beam

That reaches to Jerusalem
Before they land those toys.”
Kid KABL Rock was on the case;
“His talent he employs”,

Said Sofa Kush, “to hack for fun
The broadcast net before.”
Avesta held a cell-phone high,
“I took my husband’s phone.

It has the code to detonate
The high-explosive bombs,
Before the children have to die
And grief consume their moms.”

But Harry saw the door give-in
And shatter to the floor
As men crashed through and aimed their guns
Upon the other four.

What happened next was like dream
As Harry leapt between
The gunmen and the other four,
Screaming, so obscene,

As bullets patted Harry Palms,
And so did Santa slay,
Avesta plugged the cell-phone in
Where Kid KABL did say,

As Sofa Kush a doll did throw
Toward a gunman’s face,
Avesta pushed the icon dial
And blew the coup de grace,

So fire ate alive those men
And ruptured in the lobby.
The plane above Jerusalem
Was hailing Abu Dhabi,

When in a super-nova blast
It blew to smithereens
And starred above, just like all those
Nativity night scenes.

.

.
#
.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~