Husband and Wife Over a Kitchen Table in Nebraska (from the “Bizarro Ted Kooser” Series)

Choosing the bills
to pay this month,
seated side-by-side
at their small, wooden
kitchen table, covered
with a thin blue tablecloth
that barely hides the grooves
from years of use,
the two of them,
Mother and Father,
alone, after the children have
been rented out
for the evening.

“We’re poor, Mother,” he says.
“We’re poor.”

She puts both her hands
on the cheeks of his whiskered face
and turns him to face her.
She looks lovingly into his one good eye,
momentarily, then gets that familiar look,
that cold, steely glint in her eyes
when a hard truth needs to be told.
“We need more inventory, Father.”

And somewhere in the next county
there is the thunderous backfire of a car
or an old dog being shot, so thankful,
that he doesn’t even whimper.

Your Momma’s Red Lipstick (a Leonard Cohen song not written by Leonard Cohen and unlikely to ever be recorded by Leonard Cohen)

(Verse 1)

I chose hope.
I chose love.
I never tried to be Peruvian.
I’m not trying to be a dove.

I drank milk.
I ate through tweed.
I was so insatiable for want
I had forgotten ‘bout the need.

I trashed the garbage.
I cleaned the sink.
I apprenticed as a furrier,
but I let loose all the mink.

I ironed my hair.
I burned my sleeve.
I stood four years in a doorway
I couldn’t bring myself to leave.

(Chorus)

Now I come knocking at your door
in a suit that’s double-breasted
I was forwarded a message
that my services are requested
Don’t be a prickly little snot,
Don’t be a snotty little prick.
Don’t make me put you in a headlock
and smear your mouth (your mouth)* *sung by Gospel choir
sloppily (sloppily)
with your momma’s (with your momma’s, ooohh, ooohhh)
red lipstick.

(Verse 2)

I feared the light.
I liked a brand.
I sewed glove from a sow’s ear
that could fit on either hand.

I painted your toes.
I rode a bull.
So I wouldn’t have to speak
I made sure my mouth was always full.

I fed the cat.
I rubbed my tummy.
I bludgeoned a ventriloquist
then was beat up by his dummy.

I lobbed grenades.
I rang a bell.
I took a stray back to the pound
because I didn’t like his smell.

(Chorus)

Now I come knocking at your door
in a suit that’s double-breasted
I was forwarded a message
that my services are requested
Don’t be a prickly little snot,
Don’t be a snotty little prick.
Don’t make me put you in a headlock
and smear your mouth (your mouth)
sloppily (sloppily)
with your momma’s (with your momma’s, ooohh, ooohhh)
red lipstick.

(Bridge)

When I thought I was reaching heaven
it was the worst of all I’ve sinned.
When I thought I was breakin’ hearts
I was only breaking wind.

Now I’m opening my eyes
over fifty times an hour

I’m done with chasing happy endings
underneath a golden shower

(Fiddle Solo)

(Verse 3)

I crashed a boat.
I cast a hex.
I isolated chromosomes.
I paid a clown for sex.

I listened loosely.
I stared away.
I offered you my belly lint
when there was nothing to say.

I joined a cult.
I pet a cloud.
I got tossed out of the ballet
because my cheering was too loud.

I courted death.
I courted ruin.
I learned to sign my name
in a Middle Earth dwarf rune.

(Chorus)

Now I come knocking at your door
in a suit that’s double-breasted
I was forwarded a message
that my services are requested
Don’t be a prickly little snot,
Don’t be a snotty little prick.
Don’t make me put you in a headlock
and smear your mouth (your mouth)
sloppily (sloppily)
with your momma’s (with your momma’s, ooohh, ooohhh)
red lipstick.
Don’t be a prickly little snot,
Don’t be a snotty little prick.
Don’t make me put you in a headlock
and smear your mouth (your mouth)
sloppily (sloppily)
with your momma’s (with your momma’s, ooohh, ooohhh)
red lipstick.

100 Affirmations for Positive, Powerful, Proven Self-Improvement (That in Some Cases Will Also Help You Shred Fat, Become Absolutely Ripped, And Attract Wealth As If You Were a Wealth Magnet)

  1. I am an elite British Commando.
  2. I don’t use the special powder, but if I wanted to use the special powder I could.
  3. There is nothing missing from me – I am complete.
  4. Nothing bad has ever happened to me that would cause ongoing thought disturbances. 
  5. If there were a point system for being a normal person, I would set the record.
  6. My greetings are friendly and charming.
  7. I give gifts appropriate for the occasion and the recipient’s place in my life.
  8. I can disappear and reappear at will.
  9. I control my own atmosphere.
  10. If I touch a home, it is protected from future storms.
  11. My breath is clear and free from flying insects.
  12. I can use a farm tractor appropriately and for the right reasons.
  13. My body is my spaceship and my spaceship cannot be defeated in a fight.
  14. There’s nothing incongruous about me.
  15. There are not a host of strangers living inside of me – there is only me.
  16. There are no unnecessary wires or chemicals in my body.
  17. All of my body’s chemicals are secreted in the appropriate amounts.
  18. All of my wires are free from rust and securely connected.
  19. I can immediately determine the difference between an actual person and a replica.
  20. I am one of those amazing people who can do anything.
  21. No one forces me to move my limbs in an awkward manner.
  22. When my limbs move, it is because I have chosen to move them.
  23. I can affect the outcome of a roulette wheel through imperceptible vibrations in my sinus cavities.
  24. I could find my real parents if I wanted to.
  25. The perfection I have achieved in my physical form is not temporary – it is eternal.
  26. I do not need a second chance to make a first impression.
  27. If I wanted to I could win every lottery.
  28. I am an elite skater.
  29. I am an expert marksman.
  30. I can lift heavy bags of groceries and walk up stairs without difficulty.
  31. I have no difficulty lifting objects over 20 lbs.
  32. I have no difficulty breathing.
  33. My bicycle is well-oiled and the gears shift smoothly.
  34. No one will ever find my secret place.
  35. Many famous people are eager to play cameos in my life.
  36. Wherever I sit, there is ample legroom.
  37. There is no phallic significance to me eating a banana as if it were an ice cream cone.
  38. I have achieved a significant place in history of my time and all historical epochs.
  39. I can enter a room and tell if the wrong people are in it.
  40. I am not wracked by guilt.
  41. I am not paralyzed in any way.
  42. I am not an unnecessary byproduct of misspent passion.
  43. I decide what will be redacted from the contemporary narrative.
  44. I decide what will be inserted into my mouth and when.
  45. I am the final element, without overtones.
  46. My eyes reflect the true depictions of the surrounding world.
  47. I am both part of the story and the writer of the story.
  48. I can appraise horses from all periods of the Americas.
  49. There is no reason to keep me behind bars.
  50. I know every moment is a chance to do the right thing or change what the right thing is.
  51. I am the driver and the car and the passenger and the road, the red light and the green light; there is no yellow light.
  52. When I want to fly, I fly; when I want to sit, a chair appears.
  53. My attention to personal affairs can never be described as “grossly inadequate”.
  54. My perspiration functions as a pleasantly scented, deep-pore cleanser.
  55. I can improve my blood flow without swallowing a capsule.
  56. My body maximizes the use of all nutrients and effortlessly flushes itself of toxins.
  57. I achieve optimum brain and body health without reliance on the whims of corrupt natural food elites.
  58. I am immune to the effects of electricity, no matter how high the voltage. 
  59. I am able to draw the borders of all regions accurately and with precision.
  60. I am never at the mercy of unseen forces.
  61. There are no mice in my car’s heating system.
  62. I am a master of exotic martial arts.
  63. I can read the psychic aura of dangerous criminals and swiftly serve them justice.
  64. I do not need to see someone’s face to know who is talking.
  65. I never get the feeling I have fallen into a black hole and cannot get out.
  66. All four of my eyes are always open.
  67. My palette of readily available emotions is rich and deep.
  68. I am not made of plastic.
  69. I do not require road flares to become aware of roadside breakdowns. 
  70. There is no flaking off of masonry inside of me.
  71. I am immune from the consequences of water absorption and freezing.
  72. I am not afraid of being trapped inside a confined space with a dwindling amount of oxygen – this is the type of situation in which I thrive.
  73. I can climb inside the rain and become its essence or allow it to simply bead off my skin.
  74. I have no valley; I have no plateaus; I only have peaks.
  75. I am capable of crafting untanned, irregular pieces of bloody cowhide into pleasing shapes.
  76. If a food item contains peanuts or was manufactured on equipment also used to process peanuts, I will know it.
  77. I am not allergic to peanuts.
  78. I give no useful answers under interrogation.
  79. I am not duped by camouflage.
  80. I have created a second brain, a duplicate brain within my real brain, and it is this second brain  that the thought invaders enter.
  81. When I choose to walk through life as if through a one-way observation window, I cannot be seen. 
  82. I do not need to strike while the iron is hot – I control metal in all its states.
  83. I am not susceptible to disempowering messages from a broken toaster.
  84. I have silenced all negative internal dialogues.
  85. I transform disempowering feelings or behaviors into winter jackets that can be given to those in need of winter jackets.
  86. I can operate in subliminal, semi-subliminal and overt mode.
  87. I am what all is about.
  88. There is no “good way” or “bad way” – there is only my way.
  89. I can sleep away from home comfortably on my right side, on my left side, on my back, or on my stomach – however it needs to be.
  90. My body’s internal thermostat regulates temperature and, therefore, I do not overheat.
  91. I excel at carnival games involving feats of strength or ionizing water.
  92. I will not die sitting down or laying on my back; like King Richard III, I will die standing on my own two feet, cut down by various medieval weapons.
  93. If I were a deep ocean trench, I would be the deepest ocean trench there ever was.
  94. Foreign daredevils repeat routine aspects of my daily life and call them “stunts.”
  95. I have the ability to gather and mobilize yaks in an emergency situation.
  96. The constant sensation I am riding upwards on a slow-moving elevator is merely me getting smarter.
  97. My lactose intolerance is not a weakness; it is an asset that allows me insight into the suffering of lesser mortals.
  98. The people who are always looking at me and thinking, “He must have a direct path to God” are 100% correct.
  99. If God has chosen to make our clandestine means of communication known to others as Revealed Truth, then I must accept it as His Will.
  100. When they think they have found me, I will already be gone.

Great Things! (vol. 2)

Great Things! is an occasional MonsterBeGood feature which is composed whenever the editor senses the world at large, medium, small, toddler and infant sizes needs a healthy dose of the type of medicine you just can’t get from a pill, a compound, a nasal spray, a medicinal rub or a suppository. Consider it borscht for the blues, a mud pie for the mopes, or even a z-pack that you don’t need to wait 5 days to take.

And so, here’s wishing you all Great Things!


Great Things!

I Chase a Brewer Never Liquored

I chase – a Brewer – never liquored –
on a Unicorn – filled with Beer –
brewed from Sharon Mesmer’s Underwear –
six Deerheads – with one Ear –

in a Trombone – of Hair – that flies
through sculpture[/‘/(d)/s/ (/(–)/)] Acts of Blindness –
into the Presents of our Pasts –
all Forwards – to Behindness –

when the hand saws – off the Cliff –
cut – through the Thing without – a Feather–
fill – the Head in Multiples –
of Strings – on bridal Pleather –

til Sherriffs swing – their Necks as ropes –
twisting – braided Kettle Corn –
I’ll chase a Brewer – never liquored –
on a Walmart Unicorn.

Great Things!

Great Things! is a new MonsterBeGood feature intended to inspire, well, great things!

Published whenever the mood strikes us (typically, when we are short on poems or don’t like any of the poems we have or when the rotisserie poem oven in which we gently slow-roast all our poems is on the fritz) these quotes and aphorisms are like nutritious fiber nuggets of gold for the soul, keeping the system regular with a strong dose of “why yes, that’s just how it is – isn’t it, by golly!” inspirational wisdom without the harmful, possibly deadly, effects that consuming commensurate amounts of actual gold would entail.

Share them with friends, colleagues, obscure middle-distance runners from Sweden, members of Congress, past and present members of Yes and everyone you know – and don’t know yet!

You are encouraged to print out each edition of Great Things! and have it laminated, as numerous studies have shown the inspirational power of Great Things! to increase fivefold – no, you don’t need glasses, that’s FIVEFOLD!!! – when laminated.

Now on with the inspiration and here’s wishing you Great Things!

Our Boy Has Grown

When he was four, the family dog,
a border collie named “Rounder”
still towered over him. Once he started
school, for what seemed like ages,
he was the smallest boy in the class
by nearly a full head. Then two. Then three.
Half the girls in his class were taller than
him all through elementary. You remember
having to prop him up at the kitchen table,
putting him on the pillows that Aunt Sadie
had given you that one Christmas, his legs
forever hanging down. You look at him now
in the backyard and he’s wider in the shoulders
and all around. “I made him some oatmeal.
In the blue one,” says his mother. When
his mother’s not looking, you add a few
bags of sugar to it and stir them in, one
five-pound bag after the other. He never
outgrew his fondness for sugar. You backup the
pickup to where he’s laying in the yard.
You poke your head out of the side of the cab
and give a yell. “Feedin’ Time, Son!”
He digs in, greedily shoveling the oatmeal
into his mouth with a shovel. You beam
with pride. Maybe in the big city, things
are different, but out here on the great,
plains of Nebraska, there’s really nothing
that makes a father’s heart swell with pride
more than watching his grown son eat
seventy-five pounds of oatmeal out of the
back of a pickup. It is these little moments
that make life as a parent so very wonderful.
When he has finished, he emits several grunts
you translate as “That was good. Thanks for
adding the sugar,” drops the shovel, rolls
over and goes to sleep. By the barn, as you are
hosing the remnants of the oatmeal out of
the truck’s bed, you wonder if you could buy
a used cement mixer, whether that would
make things easier. And like all fathers who
have unmarried sons of a certain age, in this
case, a certain age being the specific age of 35,
you say yet another prayer to the Lord above
that sooner, rather than later, he’ll finally
find for himself a good and strong
woman to take care of him.

Very Special Occasion Greeting Card: Morale Booster For the Student Failing French

front of card

greeting card: morale booster for the student failing French

inside of card

The Ballad of Bill “The Bunter” Hobson (A Spectacularly Undistinguished Practitioner of the Art of Professional Fisticuffs, Who Nevertheless is Remembered as a War Hero)

baseball player v. boxer

It was just in Bill Hobson’s nature,
before he was even a runt,
why, before he even learned to walk,
he’d taught himself to bunt.

He showed little interest in grade school.
His teachers found him as a student wanting.
He’d do no homework, but every day in his backyard,
for six hours after school, he’d diligently practice bunting.

He made the freshman baseball team,
but he gave his coaches a fit,
for Bill insisted on bunting – no matter what the sign –
as a way to get a hit. (He never did.)

Tossed off the team for insubordination, next fall, he tried out for football.
The coach showed him how to punt it,
but instead of catching and kicking the ball,
Bill Hobson tried to bunt it. (It will come as no surprise that he did not not make team.)

Bill got a job as a night watchman.
After he’d made the rounds and checked all the locks,
he would spend the rest of the night
practicing bunting out on the loading docks.

Late one evening, a gambler spied Bill,
said to his partner, “Look at that schmuck.”
His partner said “He doesn’t look like a fool to me,
He looks like a stroke of good luck!”

And so the boxer Bill “the Bunter” Hobson was born.
Of his prowess at fisticuffs the gamblers would sing
as they’d travel from town to town, get Bill into a boxing match,
then bet the house of the other guy in the ring.

His head it was battered.
His jaw it was shattered.
Across his tattered baseball jersey,
his blood it was splattered.

His eyes black and bruised,
but he never felt used,
for if one’s calling is bunting,
one’s life can’t really be choosed.

Then the Great War in Europe broke out (version II).
Bill was drafted and sent to the front.
It was at the Battle of the Bulge
that Bill made his most famous bunt.

​A German soldier tossed a grenade at his platoon’s foxhole
It hung in the air, everyone thought in that instant, “My God! We’re done for and that’s that”
but Bill saw the grenade as a baseball,
and bunted it with his bat.

And even though Bill “The Bunter” Hobson was a failure as a student,
could not even stay on the baseball team,
never stood a chance at making the football team,
never became a doctor or a lawyer,
and although his lack of prowess with women was up until this point
not heretofore mentioned, one can only imagine,
and his total number of wins as a professional boxer amounted to zero (0-533 to be exact),
when it came time for his final out,​
Bill Hobson died a hero!

So it doesn’t matter if you reach first base,
it doesn’t matter how many runs you score,
in the town square of Rosemont, Ohio, is a statue
erected in honor of “Bill ‘The Bunter’ Hobson – a Hero of the Second World War”

Proposal to the Tate Museum for the Interactive Installation Exhibit “Soil Room”

Artist’s Statement

​Our primitive ancestors knew the value of soil and respected the soil.

Yet, as the story of humanity has left its footprints upon history, soil has been trampled underfoot, becoming a mere footnote in the long march when it is fact its very foundation.

Here are the facts on the ground: We may not be made of the soil, but soil has made us.

It is safe to say that we would not be standing (or sitting or lying or crouching) here today without soil; we would be still be some type of fish, as without soil there is no shore upon which our super-primitive ancestors (i.e. those even more primitive than our primitive ancestors who knew the value of soil and respected it) could have place a tentative tentacle, fin, antennae, etc. and quickly perished, somehow beginning the great evolutionary process that has resulted in proposals of exactly this kind.

No. Soil has become a dirty word. Your good name has been soiled. Your reputation has been soiled. You’ve soiled your pants, your diapers, your dress, your futon, your rug, the reputations of those previously believed to be virgins, etc.

Even when taken as a signifier (“soil”) of a material object (“[soil]“), “soil” immediately takes us to one of two bad places – either we are worms endlessly burrowing through the soil only to have the soil pass through us (please see T.F. Burns, “The Soil Traveler”) or we bodies that are entombed within the soil (please see “The Obituaries”). In rare cases, we can imagine ourselves as both (please see K.F. von Braunstein’s, “On The Dead Worm Which Eats Through Its Own Corpse”). ​

Farmers appreciate the soil, but many have bought the farm – driven off their land by foreclosures and the rapaciousness of multinational agribusiness conglomerates, which despite their vast amounts of capital have yet to produce a self-cleaning head of lettuce or a self-dicing tomato. And besides, farmers are not our intended audience – as they are far too busy doing the hard work of farming to frequent the Tate in meaningful numbers.

​”Soil Room” is an interactive installation which attempts to start both a discursive and recursive dialogue (ideal mix: 3 parts discursivity for every 2 parts of recursivity, with a bitter lemon rubbed in sweet bitters) on our concepts of the “soil” by boldly challenging visitors to re-envision “soilness” by navigating (in this case, physically navigating) a recontextualization of the soil into a decontextualized environment itself contextualized by its surroundings.

Proposal for Installation – The Basics

The Tate will give over to me a gallery room approximately 100′x100′ with a ceiling height no less than 25 hands or 25 feet (whichever is larger).

I, with the help of a team of experienced landscapers, will cover the entire surface of the room – floor, walls and ceiling – with a 6″ coating of soil.

Visitors will enter the installation via a 50′ long rounded stone chamber resembling the sides of a stone well. The Tate will be responsible for furnishing this entrance, as I do not do stonework.

Lighting

​The installation will be unlit, so visitors can experience the soil in complete darkness.

Prohibition Against the Sale or Rental of or Provision of Illumination Devices Including Torches and Flashlights

The Tate is hereby prohibited from selling, renting or providing its visitors any illumination devices for use in “Soil Room.” However, if visitors choose to hold aloft any lighters or flashlights they are carrying, this is fine, although in theory, if there were no legal matters to consider, those using illumination devices would be eaten by predators.

Maximum Number of Visitors at Any One Time

There will be no limit on the number of persons allowed to enter the exhibit at any one time (Fire codes are for bureaucrats and Cassandras!).

​Duration of Installation Exhibit

The exhibit will run for one year, allowing “Soil Room” to experience all four seasons. If the show would naturally end in a winter, but the Groundhog has seen his shadow, the exhibit will be extended another 6 weeks. ​

Temperature of “Soil Room”

During the summer season the room is to be cooled to 50 degrees Fahrenheit (I’m an American. I don’t do the Celsius thing. I’m sure you can figure it out.) and during the winter season heated to 70 degrees. During the Fall and Spring the temperature will be whatever the midpoint is between 50 degrees Fahrenheit and 70 degrees Fahrenheit (I’m an installation artist. Simple math is beneath me.)

Synergistic Possibilities for Future Exhibitions Based on “Soil Room”​

Future Video Installation – “Humans Moving Through Soil”

For a 3-hour period during a random Saturday of each of the four seasons, every visitor entering “Soil Room” will be required to wear a special jumpsuit, along with shoes, a helmet and special gloves (4 fingers mandatory – no mittens!) the effect of which is to cover all surface skin. Video cameras inserted into various places will recorded the motions of visitors wearing their special suits (whether the film will pick up body heat, infrared waves or radiation waves is still TBD). Edited portions of these videos will form a new video installation entitled “Humans Moving Through Soil.” Unedited video will form the 12-hour long “exclusive director’s cut” version.

​[Ammendment to the preceding paragraph: I have consulted with several experts and now understand that filming the video in infrared will not require special suits, therefore...no, on second thought, have them wear the suits anyway.]

[Ammendment to the preceding ammendment: Please ignore the preceding ammendment].

Future Found Sculpture Exhibit – “Things Left on the Soil”

At the end of each day, Tate Museum curatorial personnel – with the assistance of janitorial personnel – will curate the room of any objects left by visitors. These will be further curated into an exhibit showcasing items left behind. Vsitors who identify objects lost while in “Soil Room” will have the option of recovering them by paying the ransom.

Synergistic and Crassly Commercial Possibilities

​The Tate gift museum is encouraged to exploit all available profitable synergistic product off-shoots as the artist believes this will help to further raise “soil consciousness.” The following are merely examples of the possibilities:

The “Soil Room” Dollhouse – a cube with one open face and the rest of all surfaces covered in soil. Sold in the following sizes: Starter, First Promotion, McMansion, Empty Nest, Empty NestEgg (alternatively titled the “Bernie Did What?”).

​Soil – Soil will be sold in the following sizes: Large bucket, Grande Bucket, Tall bucket. Also sold in 20lb., 50lb. and 100lb. bags.

Soil Room T-shirt (standard) – This will be a mass reproduction of a t-shirt worn by the artist as he rolled around in freshly landscaped flower bed.

Soil Room T-shirt (worn by artist) – This will be a t-shirt worn by the artist as he rolled around in freshly landscaped flower bed. Authenticated with artist’s initials hand-cleaned using an instant stain-remover pen.

​​​Closing Statement

Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I want to start by saying thank you – thank you for your time. I appreciate it tremendously and I will therefore keep my closing statement mercifully short. Two simple words – not guilty. Why? Two simple words and an acronym – the DNA test. Thank you. That’s all your honor.

Artist’s Closing Statement

I really can’t say it any better than what you just heard from my attorney, Mr. Hobson. But, here’s hoping to see you hopping and bopping in “Soil Room” soon!

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