Suburban Sprawl (long free verse)

[Elven Doritos]

Down on the strip mall,
Apart from all the world's burdens,
Teenagers hide their sorrow,
Place their hopes in purses, coats,
Flirt and laugh and sing aloud,
Stamp the fields and dance around,
Purchase, consume, eat, drink,
Sweeping from store to store,
Until their wallets are
empty.

"In my time," the old man says,
"We walked down to the drug store
next to the family diner and
happily, waited for our special treat
candy-striped happiness and maybe
go to the dime store and hope
for a penny's worth of change."

"Grampa, whatever, I'm going with
my friends,"
"Where to?"
"We're gonna hang at Wal-Mart."
"What will you do?"
"Just walk around."
"Inside that empty warehouse
with all the Chinese trinkets?
Baubles, clothes, and hollow dreams?"
"Uh? Yeah, whatever. Later, grampa."

I knew a woman named Marie
She took herself seriously
She had no job but had a car
She knew that it could take her far
And so one night on Highway 5
The fields of grain were buzzing by
From her joy, her inner glow
The smoke began to quickly flow
A cloudy night, the moon so faint
Bereft and shrouded, silver paint
Scraped across her headlight glare
As her thunder speakers blare:
"We're all alone, we're all alone
I want to be alone with you
We're all alone, we're all alone
Baby won't you get a clue?"

Past Marie, the graveyard ghost
Of Percival Pattington Pratt
Was hoping and engraving most
Carefully, quietly, flat
The names of those who hadn't thought
To give to the cause of the dead
A funeral organ or the flowers they bought
And gave to their lovers instead

Death, the friend as old and true
The one you count on, through and through
Takes care of your tab at the neighborhood bar
He handles your business and pays off your car
Your mortgage? He laughs! "Consider it done,"
The wars that you fought for? Already won
The hopes and the dreams for which you breathe
Cease to endeavor and seeps into sieves

On the death-bed choir gown of the old and destitute,
Upon the crying baby's mouth, precious and so cute,
Are words of power left unsaid by all immersed in self
Whose primal thoughts are caged and placed upon the empty shelf

The hospice bed, so small and red,
The empty chamber cries
The wailing of the dying man
The tears on his wife's eyes
Gasping, gasping, fi-nal-ly
His memory is gone
Returned to dust and ashen creed,
Buried. In his home.

The preacher gives the eulogy
For this man he never knew
The winter sun and morning breeze
And on his feet, the dew
Allow him to forget the pain
Discomfort from his shoe
He quotes a verse regarding Cain
And knows that this is true

Returning home, the preacher dreams of God and law and truth
The Savior sparkles brilliantly, the angels soothe and sooth
His daughter, dead from cancer, was taken as a test
Of his faith and of his world, so wealthy and so blessed
But as his heavy-lidded eyes and balding hair display
With faith and with God, he struggles each day

A bulletin to all church members:
We are repairing the parking lot
Remember to donate to the cause
For the Word of God
We've sent a mission to the East
So tithe and give what's His
The roof needs repair
We've Christian cheer
But we need to be complete
The candles? No, necessary
We can't cut back on power bills
The choir robes? Important, too
We need new hymnals, true!
And all of this, to elevate
The Holy Word of God
But please, we beseech you to recall
That condemnation comes to those
Whose faith is less than golden

Young Danny Darrell was poorer than poor
His favorite play was Othello the Moor
He owned a white truck and a big blue van
He worked in a foundry and was a big man
But the times were tough, his wife was cruel
His children all dropped out from the high school
To fail was to die in Danny Darrell's heart
So he took his shotgun and peeled his face apart

It was a hot sunny day as the fireworks BOOMED
Everyone in town was there!
There were carnival rides and a free fish fry
And for once in the year people smiled
Just outside the old Dagger fields
The Ferris wheel spun and spun
The carnival owner counted all the tickets sold
As the businessmen counted their funds.

Marie, she rides into the night
To see the state and all its sites
The iron city with windswept hair
Great grey fingers everywhere
The claws of commerce scrape the sky
Bleeding wisdom 'til it's dry
And Marie, so plain and keen
Thinks that this is just obscene

The screeching strings and thunder-drums!
Tonight, the band is live!
Horns and cellos, beatniks, bums!
Invite! Invite! And buy!
Drinks for all! Not on the house
But for a modest fee;
Ignore the cockroach and the mouse
And drink! And drink! You're free!

Slurring, sudden, sullen, slumming, Steve the sideways drunk
Pretends to pray and piece his pay as though he were a monk
"Hey there babe," he says in words that vomit from his mouth
"You're looking good," he utters slow to a woman from the South

To Annabelle Black and her beauteous mask
The world was a game to play
But as she looked back on her hideous past
She had nothing cruel to say
Looking to Steve, a quite hopeless thing,
She accepted his stuttered advance
For though he was far from a prince or a king,
She feared that this was her last chance

On the dance floor, people are moving
Generating heat and sweat
Their bodies slide across one another
And their hair is damp and wet
Smoke machines and disco lights
Splash a personality
Upon the place so full of life
Yet somehow still empty

What happened to the craftsmen?
A box of toys and games.
What happened to the tradesman?
A boat of boxes and crates.
What happened to the businessmen?
A fleet of boats and ships.
What happened to the admirals?
Helen of Troy and her lips.

Hit the hammer, hit the brakes
Marie is lost and without hope
There isn't time, this can't be real
Her car, beyond repair!
Fear crawls deep inside her spine
Her throat begins to close
All alone within the fields...
Alone more than she knows.

The window screen is dirty, lined with dead insects
Annabelle is silent as she stares at Steve's biceps
His face is crumpled, but he's well-muscled,
She makes him eggs and sees him bustle
Out the weekday door.

Marie, gliding on the Highway 53,
Slides the dial of radio dreams
At nighttime, with the sky aglow
Distant lighthouse-cities twinkle
And the frowning willows sway and swing
The sounds mingle, crackle, copulate:

Buy now! On the corner of
Jewelry and
Money problems? No worries
if you call 1-800
God's vengeance shall rain upon
Sex Hotline, caller. Who do you
Want to be with, in the event of
High of fifty-three with
Clouds of
Mars discoveries and NASA promises
Hope, or at least the campaign
Highway screaming, boring,
Economy is melting stupid!

The fizzing, popping static of the FM radio
The crunching sound of boots upon the winter snow
Wriggling toes, bare and numb, upon a frigid stone
A marble pose, a pleasant prose, a simple wooden throne

"Grampa sits at the head of the table."
"But dad!"
"Quiet. Respect your elders."
"Grampa's senile!"
"Don't be rude, or else I'll-"
"He can't even hear us,
His hearing aid is out!"

With age, there comes a wisdom:
The less that people think of you
The more interesting they become
If you are a shadow to them,
You can cling and watch and mimic
Mocking them with glee and joy
And they will never know.
Should they expect you inanimate,
All the better,
For when old and infirm and lacking hope
Then they shall remember you.

Tears and lipstick, tests of faith
Blue? Purple? Well, indigo
Anabelle, so torn and shamed
Cannot return home

The new home of Danny Darrell,
Six feet deep on  Deadend Boulevard
Is cozy, slightly sparse, and damp;
What's more, it's buried in filth
Impossibly dirty, and he refuses
To clean it up!

A closed casket funeral? The preacher groans
Suicide by shotgun blast, not pretty!
How does one eulogize the hellbound soul?
"Take solace, friends and family," the preacher smiles
But thinks, "For the LORD has damned this fool."

"Damn it, Steve," cries Annabelle
Clutching her shirt in the rain
"We're pregnant," she shouts
As Steve just walks out
And leaves Annabelle in pain

Marie is tending at the bar
She finally settled down (for now)
To make some money for repairs
Or maybe buy a new (used) car
A Cadillac, or a hatch-back
Anything to help escape
The village where she broke down
She cannot stand this place

"Grampa's cane is missing,"
the old man whispers, hushed
"I'm playing my video game,"
his grandson shouted, rushed
"Please help me up, I need to go,"
"I'm busy, can it wait? You're slow."

Too slow, thinks Steve, so he hits the gas
Riding on a country road oh- so- fast-
The chrome glinting in the midnight gleam
This motorcycle handles like a total dream!

What in slumber's mighty realm does Annabelle deploy?
Beneath the veil does she curtail or does she just destroy
Those wishes and those dreams of life beyond this troubled role
Of motherhood and all that's good for her baby's soul

"Can a clergyman drink?" asked the preacher's shrink
Who received the blandest look
"I'm trying to connect with my faith again," said the
Preacher as he held his book

A customer (drunk?) at the bar of Marie
(she's now a part-time manager too)
Saunters through the door, singing heavily
(something Bob Dylan wrote?)
With checkerboard pants and frizzled hair,
A pair of sunglasses that he always wears,
A tune on his face, a melody in his hands,
"Hey baby, can I join your clan?"
Marie shakes her head at this odd sight
"Hello, sir. Are you sure you're all right?"

And he responds:
"Been better, been worse
I doubt you really care though
I couldn't say, well I mean to say
To-say, Tuesday, soothsay,
Say, did you hear about the
sure-fire way to keep your pants
looking nice and new?
Something about halfway-houses,
Tramps and sewers, or at least
Well, I mean I heard it was the
Capricorns who were waging war
Against the Pharaohs or I may have
Heard that wrong, I was with a
Herd at the time and hey,
It isn't a worry. Shouldn't you be
Serving me a drink? Beer, two of
them, one for me and one for
the woman in the corner with her
overalls and her grease on her shirt
with a wrench on her beltloop, aw
hell why not just by, buy, bye the
better business bureau so that
nothing you do is in the Wrong
That's with a capital W, just
so you can keep track, but let me
get back to the point: sure, I like
to be right and all right would be
better than some right and certainly
better than none right and I'd like to
add that yes, this is a very fine purse
you have in the back room with vinyl
and destiny and do I believe in magic?
Canaries, crayons, only in purple, yes
all of that at once, sure. And the mind-
fulness of a furnace. Put the dash in."
And Marie called the cops.

Steve couldn't explain to the officer
Why he was going so fast (98 MPH!)
The ticket, then the breathalyzer,
Things got out of hand,
And standing in the county jail,
He panicked, he had no one to call
Then, unfurling all his pride and angst,
He dialed Annabelle Black.

Ring.
"Grampa, pick up the phone."
Ring.
A shuffle, a thunderous thump.
Ring.
"Grampa, pick up the phone."
Ring.
"I hope you know I had to pause for thi-"
Ring.
Grampa, lying on the floor
Ring.
his eyes are plain white marbles
Ring.
And fallen off his
Ring.
old withered hand is
Ring.
his tarnished wedding
Ring.

"I'm beginning to think you're no good,"
Annabelle said with a snarl
"You gotta help me out, I'll change,"
Said Steve through the jailhouse bars
"You gotta be a father, you get that now?"
Annabelle crossed her arms
"With all of these cops as my witness,
I'll be good to our daughter or son."

The son led the pallbearers,
The grandson stayed behind
"Grampa's dead," he whispered
"And someday... I will die..."

The preacher watches as another
Grave is filled with dirt
He wonders with a morbid thought
Who will sing his dirge
What eulogy is there to speak
Of a wholesome priest?
What real good has he done
What will Jesus think?

Marie thought about it deeply
(It's too expensive, and she shouldn't...)
"It has an MP3 hookup!"
(That GPS does look nice...)
"And look at this! Pop-out cupholders!"
(Leather heated seats...)
"I'll throw in a free tank of gas!"
(I'll drive deep in the night)

The night was waning, vanishing
Annabelle cradled Steve's limp form
Curled and crying, wailing, worn
She hummed a soothing lullaby
And, knowing that he needed time
Slid through her bedroom door
And grinning like a dead mongoose
Steve darted, grabbed her keys and beer
And vanished in the night

Going sixty-five on Highway 65
Marie is singing, giddy, and enthused
As she twirls her hair and she rides along
She--

is THROWN through a sea of glass
SLIDES across the pavement river
Her skin BURNS and peels
And her blood is made for all
to see

Twisted steel, a road sign and
The horns are blaring, like a warning siren
Two mangled forms, a coitus of
Disaster, death, as crawling out,
Steve dies next to young Marie
Both twenty-one in age
And Steve, still stinking of the beer
For once can feel no rage

Another set of caskets,
Death's new friends and more,
These playmates in the afterlife,
The preacher promptly swore
Would find their peace and find
Their rest, but felt that in his heart
This place, so cruel and so unjust,
Could not be man's own fault

"I finally could afford your daddy's gravestone,"
Annabelle said to her son.
"What was daddy like?" he asked,
eyes shielded from the sun.
"He was a good and honest man, he would have
loved you so."

And as Annabelle held her son, she cried,
Because she never to her prince had lied.

For William, Verna, Paul, and Marian.