the poetrysheet
whimsy, subversion, bowling
Number 469, Feb. 25, 2004
Lawrence Joseph (1948- )
"The world already possesses the
dream of a time whose consciousness it must now possess in order to actually
live it."
—Guy Debord, The Society of the Spectacle
Josey closed the metal door to the Kingdom Come Motel
room. After the bright lights inside that had illuminated the shiny and naked
Milford and Wilma, the dim yellow coachlamps near the doors made her feel as if
she had walked into a movie set.
And from all appearances, it was. She turned and
faced a world complete with garden gnomes and concrete Jesuses. Water bubbled
lasciviously over rolls of cherubs in the fountain. Angels, arrested in flight,
stared heavenward above along white lattice. Whirligigs nailed to the picket
fence moved slowly in the night breeze: Moses twirled his staff like a
majorette, Jesus rotated his arms like a Channel swimmer over the now-walking
lame man whose legs churned in a circle like the neon delivery boy at Hop
Sing's Kung Pao. She heard a rhythmic jangle and turned to meet the rotund
woman who owned the Kingdom Come.
"So, Miss Soden, did you have a good
visit?" the woman said with a high-pitched squeak.
Josey was surprised by the woman's voice.
"Who?"
"You, Elliot Soden's sister."
"Oh, Elliot.” Yes, she remembered, the name
Milford assumed for the hotel register. It wouldn’t do to have a wealthy banker
dressing up in leather panties for a photo shoot with his wife and his S&M
dealer.
“Yes,” Josey said. “A visit with Elliot. Sure. Only
my name isn't Soden. It's...ah...Josey. Vanessa Josey."
Josey noticed the squeaky woman held a black
insulated lunchbox with WWJD in white letters on the side. What, exactly, she
wondered, would Jesus do with a thermal lunchbox?
"Oh, Missus Josey. You left the package with
him?"
"Sure, the package. He was glad to get it."
"But you still have the bag you came with."
The woman pointed to the oversized bag that held the camera.
"The package was only very tiny. A small
thing." Josey said as she patted the bag. It gave her satisfaction to know
that the camera had pictures of Wilma and Milford whipping each other, that, in
fact, if the pictures ever got out, the Kingdom Come would be known as a den of
iniquity.
"I see,” the woman squeaked. “Yes. Well, did you
find the room accommodating for your brother and his wife?"
Josey smiled. "You wouldn't believe how
accommodating."
"Well, that's good to hear. I hope the rest of
your trip tonight goes well, that you get where you're going in good
shape."
"Well. Thanks." Josey hitched the bag up on
her shoulder and made to turn.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay the night?”
the woman said. “We have a nice room for you, very comfortable. All the finest
Christian cable channels for free. And tomorrow morning, by the pool, we have a
little prayer service."
"I'm sure it's very nice. But I have an
appointment with my minister tomorrow." Rev. PhotoShop, she thought.
"Well, you just keep us in mind the next time
you're through. The Kingdom Come, where Jesus is Lord."
Josey looked around and spotted an Arc perched on a
boulder in a small rock garden under the neon Kingdom Come sign near the
street. Spelled on the illuminated white sign in block letters:
"A man's soul is never
free unless given
fully to the Lord"
AAA welcome
Mastercard Visa American
Express Diners Club
PAX Revelation cable"
"Oh, I'll never forget it," Josey said and
turned to walk to her car.
"Say, I hate bringing this up Missus Josey, but
can I ask you something?"
"Sure." She stopped and turned her head to
the woman.
"Are you related to Elvis? I mean, you look a
lot like him, you know. I bet people say it all the time."
"Well, people do say it all the time."
People asked more often than she wanted to admit. She decided to lie. "I'm
his first cousin."
"No kidding. You go around with Priscilla and
Lisa Marie?"
"Lisa Marie and I are the same age, you know. I
remember being at Graceland when I was a little kid. All the cars, the furniture."
"Beautiful wasn't it?"
"Just like a dream."
leaving home
that summer, the park ached
with the screams and yips
of kids and dogs loosed
upon it
it was green then,
pool full, moms with sunglasses
kids with flippers and sea monster floats
people burned weenies, took in a breeze,
smiled at each other
with beer foam moustaches
around, mamas sang in kitchens—
bread steam, meat-and-potato sear
floated over the baseball diamond
crawling with those spidery little guys
on St. Helena’s B-Team
flooring St. John Francis Regis again—
porches creaked, smoldered with cigars
a hundred dogs on every block
raised the living and the dead
at each out-of-sync clock chime
anyone who had any money
bought grape pop in a bottle
a pack of luckies, or a snort of whiskey
and life was as good
as it was ever going to get
that summer, in the park,
in the pool, we watched
young mamas and older sisters
cross and uncross their legs,
snap their swimsuit tops
and pull the elastic out from behind
with index fingers
it was before life became knotty,
before the girls got pregnant,
and things went bad with cops
parents, brothers and sisters
and we all got the hell out
that summer was as good
as it was ever going to get
but there was no way to trace the lines
through the waves in the water,
to see the reflections in the sunglasses
send short poems, short thoughts, fictions, or
nonfictions to the poetrysheet, where whimsy, subversion, and teaching our children
that when it comes to garlic, it’s aroma, not bad breath are our highest values
submit/whimsy/subversion/bowling/archive
Poetry News!/contact/subscribe
all
material copyright poetrysheet and
personally recommended press, unless otherwise arranged with the authors. for
information, contact rev. patrick dobson,
1132 e. 65th st., kansas city, mo, 64131, 816-333-7303.