I scrubbed each kitchen tile with vinegar,
doused stainless steel appliances
with cleaner to remove all streaks,
lemon-oiled the two halves of the dining room table
and pushed them back together,
dusted shelves until the micro-fiber
cloth changed colors, gathered up garbage
from all four corners and placed them at the door
to take downstairs. Later, I remembered
how I needed to get gas, postage,
buy three limes. But I kept thinking
how you reminded me of Gene Wilder,
your wild eyes, green and lashed, red hair spun
by Rumplestiltskin into barbed wires,
something primeval in the way you understood the world,
a Willy Wonka who spoke, but did not speak
the same language as the rest of us yokels. So throw me a golden
apple, a chili cheese pretzel dog, hand-outs
from a drive-through window where black and white
cats dance the Tacomania; after hours we’ll meet
at the Sweet Deal poker machine, and for one last time,
place our bets, take our chances, sweep the swamp.
somehow I found my way to your site and read your web dating. I love the cattiness and its voice. I especially like #9.
Keep on writing
I really loved your tribute to Walter Lowenfels. He was my dad’s dear friend though they lived on opposite coasts. I wish I had their correspondence. My dad did go and visit him and Lillian toward the end of their lives, and he mentioned Walter said he was sorry he had wasted years selling butter. My dad was the poet and writer Ed Stone who died in 1977. Ed was so glad to be part of ” The Writing on the Wall” and” Where is Vietnam?” I’ll check out Walter’s book of sonnets you recommended. My dad thought the world of Walter.
Hi Mary: Thanks for your kind words. Where did you find my tribute to Walter? I believe I also knew your father. Did he live on Lucas Road in San Rafael? Where do you live?
Lenore
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