Thursday, November 30, 2017

What to make of this iconic song in our fraught cultural moment of Gropageddon?  If a woman asks her male co-worker, over drinks after work at The Bar None,  to "peel me a grape," is it kosher for him to think that she wants him to do anything other than to ... peel ... her ... a ... grape?  Should he ask permission before saving the fuzz for her pillow?

Peel Me A Grape

Peel me a grape, crush me some ice
Skin me a peach, save the fuzz for my pillow
Talk to me nice, talk to me nice
You've got to wine and dine me

Don't try to fool me bejewel me
Either amuse me or lose me
I'm getting hungry, peel me a grape

Pop me a cork, french me a fry
Crack me a nut, bring a bowl full of bon-bons
Chill me some wine, keep standing by
Just entertain me, champagne me
Show me you love me, kid glove me
Best way to cheer me, cashmere me
I'm getting hungry, peel me a grape

Here's how to be an agreeable chap
Love me and leave me in luxury's lap
Hop when I holler, skip when I snap
When I say, "do it," jump to it

Send out for scotch, boil me a crab
Cut me a rose, make my tea with the petals
Just hang around, pick up the tab
Never out think me, just mink me
Polar bear rug me, don't bug me
New Thunderbird me, you heard me
I'm getting hungry, peel me a grape

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Donkey Town

Jim likes the wrecker's dogs on chains
And the smoke from the company fires,
Diesel oil in the trucks and cranes
And the smell of burnin' tires.

Monday, November 27, 2017

Feast If You Would Not Sing

I am not Tippi Hedren.
I invite the birds to pick me clean.
The crows, but also lesser ones --
The chickadees and piping plovers
Parakeets released against all odds
And yes the common terns fed often on the bubbling flats of Brighton Beach
By members (former members) of the Comintern.
Reptilian all.

Remarking that I draw the line at seagulls
Having yellow eyes,
As icy in their feeding
As a mantis biting off at once
The living brain case of a living fly.

A burial by air it has been called.
Dis-integration is another word.
But thank you birds I couldn't do it by myself --
I fed you nuts and popcorn
And you could have held out for Hartz Mountain,
Cursed the god indeed who made you scavengers
Condemned to play your silly tunes at dawn,
When I was hoping that the deepest dark
Would keep the silence
Til I made my peace
With this, my final passage,
Not forsaken,
Passed the chicken wings
And said my prayers,
Still corporeal
If not corporate.

Non-attachment to all things --
It was my mantra
When I was not focusing
On women if the truth be told
Most often in their icy, craven flowerings.

Perhaps the next time
They will draw me close
By asking without pretense
Why the hungry passionless robotic
Caged bird sings.

TFTD:  In the beginning was the word (not the Word).