A Green Beetle

My Modern Met

One day,
I grew tired
Of my champagne sedan.

Champagne.
That is what
The dealer called it,
As though giving it
An expensive name
Made it less of
A boring colour.

So when Bobby
(That's my husband)
Wasn't looking,
I traded it in
For a green beetle.

Green.
A colour that
Took me back
To a time
When smiles were found
More often than frowns,
When mommy had
All the answers
And when my favourite colour
Was green.

At first,
Bobby would go through
The five stages of loss.
Denial.
Anger.
Bargaining.
Depression.
Acceptance.

I will be waiting for him
At Acceptance
In my green VW Beetle.

Quite Beautiful

My Modern Met

The sun made it's descent
Into the distant horizon,
Being chased by the velvet night
In shades of blues and blacks.

I watched the whole show
In the reflection of still waters
Which distorted the reality
Into an artist's rendering
Of the world I grew tired of.

So in the evenings,
You would find me
At the water's edge
Watching the world
I never take notice
Turn into something
Quite beautiful.

In Reality

He said that
The job would be easy.

My sole purpose
Was to be eye candy.

So why was I lying
In a pool of my own blood?

Why was this bullet
Burried in my stomach?

Whay was he stowing the loot
In the trunk of his family car?

Where were the others?
Luke who was posing
As a security guard.
Tony and Sylvester,
The shooter and driver, respectively.
Where were they
And why weren't the stopping him?

In a blink of an eye,
He was over me.

He was stuffing papers
In my pockets,
But I was too weak
Too much in pain
To fight him.

As he strode away,
I managed to pull out
A piece of paper
From my left pocket.

It showed the route
Of the armor truck
We just boosted.

I looked up
When I heard a click,
Fearing it was the click
Of the safety of his gun
Being removed, instead,
It was the sound of
The car door closing.

I watched the family car drive off
With the Baby on Board sticker
Fading into the distance.

In reality,
Things don't according to plan.

In reality,
Not everyone knows the complete plan.

In reality,
I will die in a few hours
From a gunshot wound.

In reality,
I will be blamed for a crime
For which I was only supposed
To be eye candy.

Sometimes,
Reality can be a bitch.

XX

I have a couple poems that were a bit on the hot and bothered side, so instead of posting it the regular way, I've put links to them in this short post. So if you're over 18, click the links in the first sentence and enjoy.

XOXO

P.S. Consider yourself warned.

Sweet Amanda

My Modern Met

The vintage car pulled up
To the pier,
And a feeling of dread
Engulfed me.

Mr. Peterson was,
In one word,
A Prick.
According to his press releases,
He was a self made man
Who built his fortune
From a little lemonade stand
He had when he was about 7 years old.

The sad thing is
That prick was my boss.
He owned the yacht I worked on
And twice a year,
I had the displeasure
Of being in his company.

To ensure that he never
Knew my true feelings towards him,
I plastered a smile on my face
And greeted him
Like my favourite uncle,
Going into a spiel
On how well the boat was doing.

This time,
He appeared to be distracted.
His eyes darting to me,
The pier, then the car.
Something was off.

“You’ve been doing a great job
On the boat, Tom.”
Don’t I know I do
A great job on this mega yacht.
“How about you take
The weekend off.
I’m not taking it out,
But I need some alone time.”
No problem,
Lara was talking abut going upstate
And this weekend was as good as any.

Something is off.

I packed up my stuff
And made my way to my ride.
On the way home,
I called Lara
And shared the good news.

Saturday morning,
The ride was packed,
And the road was calling,
But I forgot my pocket knife
At the yacht.

It was no problem,
I’ll just stop on the way.

It was still pretty early,
So I decided to sneak on,
Find the knife
And be on my way
Without disturbing Mr. Peterson.

As I passed the main stateroom,
I heard moaning
And something akin
To a struggle.
I slowly cracked the door,
Making sure not to make any noise.

What I found
Was Mr. Peterson on top
Of his twelve year old daughter,
Amanda.

He didn’t see me,
But she looked right into my eyes.
Her eyes spoke volumes.
They told me that this
Was not the first time.
They told me she didn’t
Want to be here,
Doing this act with anyone,
Much less her father.
They told me that
She was about to give up.

At this moment,
I chose to do the right thing.

Sure, I could have walked away,
I could have called her mom,
Called the police.
I could have done
These things anonymously,
But I didn’t.

Instead,
I pulled Mr. Peterson
Off of his daughter,
Shoving him against the wall.
As he was a bit shocked
By the intrusion,
I was able to get off
A good uppercut
That knocked him out.

I threw clothes at Amanda,
Giving her time to get dressed,
As I waited just outside of the room.

Five minutes later,
She stood at the door.
“Do you want me to
Take you back home?”
She shook her head. No.
“Where do you want to go?”

It took a while
For her to answer
And I was not expecting the answer.
“I want to go with you.”

As we approached my ride,
I read the questions
That were written across Lara’s face.
“Later,” was all I said.

Later, as we drove
To Lara’s parent’s house,
We learned about
The Petersons,
And what emerged from
The lips of Amanda Peterson
Shook us to our core.

Amanda, in our minds
Was not returning home,
Amanda was never going
To step foot on the mega yacht
Where her father violated her.
The same boat he called
The Sweet Amanda.

Fortunately, the Petersons didn’t want
The scandal to smear their “good” name.
They told friends and family
That Amanda was attending
A Swiss boarding school,
But the truth was they signed
Guardianship over to Lara and me.

We moved to the west coast,
I’m still working on boats,
Lara found a good job,
And Amanda,
Well, Amanda is doing great.

The Policy

The wind enveloped me,
Pitching the skirt
Of my dress around me,
Giving life to the fabric.

I didn’t feel it,
My whole body,
Not just my eyes
Was trained at the
Nozzle of the gun.

My gun,
Being held by
My husband,
The man I vowed
To have and hold
Until death do us part.

A new feeling
Swept through me.
A feeling as alien
To me as the desire
To touch an earthworm.

Terror
Held me still
And yet, it set my heart
Racing.

“What is going on?”
One of the questions
Crisscrossing in my mind
Like the Nokia snake.

“Who was this man?”
His eyes cruel,
Dead, evil.

There was a movement
To the left,
But I kept my eyes
On the gun.

He looked,
A smile,
A nasty smile
Pulled at the corner
Of his lips.

It was now
Or never.

I rushed him,
Pushing the gun up,
While slamming the heel
Of my hand
Up his nose.

He roared,
Dropping the gun
And I dropped,
Dodging his frantic hands
And catching the gun.

I removed the safety
And held the business end
To his temple.
It was his turn
To feel terror.

He licked his lips,
His eyes begging,
His mind reeling,
His heart speeding.

It’s a funny thing
When a man
Takes out a million dollar
Life Insurance Policy
On his wife.

I can forgive him
All the women he slept with,
Like the bitch
Cowering in the corner.

I can forgive him
Putting us deep into debt,
Spending money on toys
And whores.

I can forgive him
For being an impotent,
No good, piece of ……..

But I can never forgive him
For planning to kill me.
He saw that this one act
Was unforgivable.

Terror twisted his face
Stealing all the confidence
He possessed five minutes ago.

The terror
Became my loving husbands
Death mask.

It was self defense,
His prints were on the bullets
He loaded in my gun.
The bitch could not dispute it,
My attorney made sure of that.

The jury heard about
The debt he put us in,
The women,
The life insurance policy.

I was the victim
That survived.

I was found
Not guilty
On the grounds
Of self defense.

After the trial,
I disappeared
From public view.
I let the months slip by
As I reclaimed my life.

Three months later
I filed my husband’s
Life insurance policy.
Two million dollars!
I deserved all of it!

No Promises

weheartit.com

As I lay
In the crook of his arm,
I traced the outline of his lips.
The same full lips
That left my lips swollen
And loved.

I whispered in his ears
A truth that was mine.
the truth that I would
Leave him wanting more
And yet leave him confused.

There would be times
I would be in his grasp
And others when he questions
If I really existed.

I whispered,
As our bodies entwined,
Hard and soft united
As one.

This moment here,
I whisper, should be savoured.
Each sensory stimuli recorded,
Each emotion noted
Because I can't promise him
It will happen again.

In this embrace,
He falls asleep,
His breathing growing slower
And slower,
His face relaxed.

I watch him in this state
Memorizing every line and curve
Of his face.
A mental photograph.

In the morning,
I'm gone,
Leaving behind warmth
Fading next to him,
My taste on his lips,
My scent in his sheets
And the memory
Of our night together.

He will find a note
Next to the coffee
I left to brew.

"No Promise."

A New Story

weheartit.com


I don't want to be pregnant!
I don't want to be pregnant!
Please, God,
don't make me be pregnant!
A constant chant
Marching through my cerebral cortex.

Any other time,
I would be jumping for joy
At the prospect of
Carrying a little person for nine months,
Going through excruciating pain
Giving birth to said little person.

This was not that time.

I could not adopt
The concept that I
Would be linked
To that man for 18 years.
Having him have a say
In how my child was to be brought up?
No sir, no ma'am.

So, why did I
Let it get so far?

I guess
I wanted to be normal,
I wanted to be loved,
I wanted what I saw in movies
And read in novels.
The sad thing is
That was not the reality.

The reality was
Men who wanted my body,
More than my soul.
Men who put their needs,
His wants before mine.
Men who wanted me
To have their babies,
But made me question
If they wanted me.

"You can go in now."
The nurse pulled me
Out of my fog of thoughts.

Dead woman walking,
More like
Pregnant woman walking.
My steps were heavy
And yet I was able to move quickly.

The doctor greeted me
With his usual effervescence
And I try to match it
Point for point.

As I sit across
From my gyno and relate my suspicions,
The door to the outside closes
And a new story begins.

An Urban Prima Ballerina

My Modern Met

I first saw one
When I was visiting
Gigi’s apartment.

Mrs. Ortiz had the TV
On one of those cable networks
Dedicated to the arts,
While piles and piles
Of laundry covered the furniture
In the small living room.

As Gigi ran to the bedroom
She shared with her two sisters,
I stood transfixed
By the woman
With an impossibly short
Mini skirt over a bathing suit.

“You like?”
I heard the smile
In Mrs. Ortiz’s voice.
“She’s the prima ballerina,
The star of the ballet.

That afternoon,
I sat on the Ortiz’s floor,
My eyes trained on the telly
While the woman of the house
Told me everything she knew
Of ballerinas, ballets
And the like.

Momma couldn’t afford
To send me to ballet lessons,
She said as much
When I asked,
So every Tuesday and Thursday,
After school,
You would find me
At Gigi’s place
Watching ballerinas jump
And twirl with Mrs. Ortiz.

I would memorize
Every move
And on the way home
I would mimic
What I saw.
I would practice
And practice
Until I become known as
The neighbourhood ballerina.

Then one evening,
Just as I completed
A complicated routine,
A lone round of applause
Echoed in the alley.

In it’s entrance
Stood a petit woman
With an enviable presence.

“Come with me.”
An expression of admiration
Was written across her face.
She introduced herself
As the owner of a ballet school
Located a few blocks away.
She was directed to my alley
And there she would find
An urban prima ballerina.

And so,
I went with her.
She taught me
Free of charge.
We fought.
We reconciled
And under her tutelage,
I became a real ballerina.

Over the years
That followed,
I work very hard
Until I became
A renowned prima ballerina,
But always in my heart,
I will always be
An urban prima ballerina.

Happiness Finds Me

weheartit.com

The hot air
Licked the back
Of my neck
Like a lover.
Kissing, licking
And blowing warm air.

I didn’t bother
To put on the fan
Sitting at the foot
Of the hammock.
All it would have done was
Circulate the hot air
In and about the space
That embraced my body.

Instead,
I reached for an ice cube
From the bowl next to me.
I licked it,
Letting my mouth
Become acquainted to the coolness.
Then I wrapped my lips
Around the cold delight,
And sucked,
Melting it
Before swallowing it
Whole.

I set the hammock
To swing,
Kicking off with my foot
In an idle fashion.
Book in my hands,
Blue sky all around
And Coltrane playing
In the background.

This was happiness.

I didn’t need
Gucci bags,
Louboutin pumps
Or a Lamborghini
In my favourite shade of
Pink.

Those things did not
Let my heart grow
Two sizes its size.
They did not create
A feeling that can only
Be described as Joy.

I found happiness
In a good book,
In the company of good people,
In the presence of nature
At it’s most beautiful.

And sometimes,
Fifty percent of the time,
Happiness finds me.

My Field Of Memories

My Modern Met

It was just before
The time when
The sun would
Dip low and kiss the earth.

I found the field
Empty and waiting
For me to return.
An old friend waiting
For an old friend.

I walked around
The field,
Stopping at places
That brought back
A memory.

The memory
Of pretending
I was a plane.
Arms stretched out
To the sides,
Dipping and soaring
As I imagined
An open sky
In front of me.

The memory
Of my first kiss,
Awkward, yet sweet.
The foundation
Or many more.
Some good,
Some bad.

The countless memories
Of dancing.
Dancing for joy,
Dancing to release stress,
Dancing just because.

Then there were
No more memories.
I had stopped
Visiting the field.

Life happened
And there was no time
To visit,
To create new memories.

Now my time
Has ended,
I will not be
Making new memories.

One moment,
I was in my hospital room,
The next moment,
I was walking
Through the woods
To the field.

I’ve said my goodbyes
To all my loved ones
Except one.

As this day ends,
Taking with it my life,
I say goodbye to
My field of memories.