DINNER AND TAXI...$2

Posted for dVersePoets Pub
Open Link Night Week #102
(Starts Tuesday at 3 PM Eastern)

THE BUCK STOPS HERE (by steveroni)

REMINISCENCES

In 'days of olde',
petticoats, in fashion,
a skirt beneath the skirt.
Grandma sewed money into
hem of her underwear.

Two dollars--stitched, or not--
in year 1890 would buy dinner and a
cab ride home, tip included.

Intention was to "save" her from
an embarrassing date situation.
I "KNEW" my grandma, and would
wager everything--that she in her 18th year
might have preferred a few "dangerous" 
occasions over solo taxi trips home.

By 1960  $2  bought a bottle of
Liebfraumilch, with change left over.
I always knew (on visits to Cincinnati)
where I could find two bucks.
(Slip-sewed $2 became a lifelong habit
of Grandma's.)  If there were 2 petticoats
(slips) I bought TWO bottles.  However,
by then I was heavily involved with
muchas otras cosas...

These years since--searching for money--I've 
habitually (not obsessively!) examined female undergarments...never found a single cent.  Note...I do NOT miss the days of corsets, garter belts, stockings, and could well do without the skimpier items which--smaller than my handkerchief--are now so popular.
My one-word mantra: NAKED!

As a small child I was intrigued by women wearing corsets, garter belts, stockings, harness collars (now called "bras"!), and NO, I NEVER WORE ANY OF WOMEN'S STUFF.  OK? (Smiles!)

I DO remember having an "affinity" (love affair) once with this girl who heavily sedated herself with Coty's Emeraude perfume.  I used to douse a handkerchief with the stuff, and tuck it under my chin when playing violin in the symphony.  ("Inspiration" comes in various forms?)  A few of the musicians looked askance.  But then, as now, I did not give a Royal "F" about what people might have thought or said.

If anyone thought I was crazy (I am!), they only sat for a moment with "me" on their minds.  Because most people think--97% of the time--about THEMSELVES.  By internalizing that thought my paranoia was cured for all time.  What FREEDOM!

Think what $2 would buy today in USA? 
Maybe a 15-stick pack of Wrigley's Bubble Gum?  
I want some of that now. 
Where's Grandma when you need her?  
(Rest her blessed soul.)

Rambling, I notice, so it's time to go.  
See y'all next time.  
Love and PEACE!

--steveroni

good boy--bad boy

THE GOOD

Something Happened

"He's a good boy."  That's what people said.  I pretended to not hear them.  Did not want to be a "good boy".  The "bad boys" got the choicest girls, attracted attention of teachers, police, school principals.  They were known, recognized, even liked, praised.

Those--like me--who always said, "thank you", "please", and "excuse me" were not chastised for our behavior? Same old hated--in those words, "He's a good boy."

When alone, I would loudly say "Damn", "Fart" and "Fuck".  Then, as I turned age 10, I tried, tried hard, to become a "bad boy".  But I was not properly accepted, acclaimed, liked. People only laughed at me, saying, "Look at that good boy trying to act bad."

I kept on proving to myself and anyone else that I WAS bad, became a real drunk, and I existed with the emotions of a 15-year-old for the next 25 years.

Two things I wish to mention.  At age 15, when I REALLY began my BAD life, all those other "bad" guys became good guys, earned post-grad degrees with honors.  They got good jobs, stayed married, raised families "properly", became owners of successful businesses or respected elected officials (HA!).

By age 40, in poor health, I was stealing in order to support a rather expensive drug-and-booze habit.  Life continued--then Something happened!  I got well, began living with a gusto like never before, happily enthusiastic about EVERYTHING!  What that Something was is between me and It...but I always now capitalize the word Something.

--steveroni

AGELESS AGE

Beginning 3 PM Tuesday June 18
OpenLinkNight, Week #101 

@ dVerse Poets Pub

"ROCKY-TOP" Fireplace in each of 

630 Cracker Barrel Restaurants

in 42 states

LIVING IN AN AGELESS AGE

Been told, "so old,
more than old
--like tree mold"

This afternoon, in Cracker Barrel
restaurant, as blood vessels
welcomed plaque-reducing dinner:
fried chicken, mac-n-cheese, etcetera...

I sat--still old. Now
with added bold--
glanced "knowingly" through windows;
out in spoiling sunshine,
spotted our car.  Wondered I: 

"When did we get here? 
Which direction is the hotel?
What city did we stay last night?
Who are we visiting tomorrow?

"Is 'time' real?
Is UNIVERSE for real?
Is this TRUTH:   when
all is gone of push and shove,
remaining only and exclusively
shall be...LOVE?"

Anna returned from the "powder room"
--immediately I laughed, realized my
predicament, grabbed ahold
of my brain--remember? old mold?
--and holding my gold cross,
said to her, "Hey, we ARE in Naples?? 
We're Home!  RIGHT?"

Youthful laughter from she,
even more from heart-warmed ME!

who neither sane 
nor senile
be

--steveroni
LOVE and PEACE!

FINALLY

See my friends having fun at dVerse Poets Pub

Open Link Night...week 99!!!

Pixel People Perfection

THE LAST WORD

Ambulances flying,
then--cannot move .
People dying
roadways blocked

Symphony of cacophonies
all directions. Beeping horns,
braking wheels. Squeals of 
injured--oh! the blood one sees.

Rain drops forming little craters 
in pools of paling redness...
under cycle sitting marbleized,
waiting. Waiting, watching.

Wishing to be mobilized, 
to seek an overpass for
shelter. Stuck in the mud, 
no, stuck in the blood. 

Everywhere, stinky, sticky,
gooey--WAIT! That's MINE!
My life juice, mingling with
Rain water--Earth's life-juice.
What the fuck...

Bike tire looks pink. Maybe
angel wings? I think
one of those dying--is me.
Voices everywhere:  

"Slippery street. 
Poor fella  couldn't stop,
just slid under that truck.
Cover him with your umbrella."

"My window was open,
his last word I heard--
He simply said....
"What the fuck!"
And then I saw this 
big smile on his face."

--steveroni
6/5/13

Trying to recall an accident scene in which the biker died only several yards from me. Mingling that with story of my own accident 1½ years ago. NoFunAtAll...