R. Crumb
Hobgoblin bijou cartoon-maker
Has stork’s-bill nose for relics
Arights ladders into trestle-trees
Runs back and forth over sleeping memories
Gets himself a cheap suit and a partner
Hawks art from her baby carriage
Keeps on truckin’
After a lifetime
of working with my hands
I’m still not careful enough
around Sharp Things
and Hot Things
and Things That Rapidly Spin.
Which leaves me especially
vulnerable to intelligent,
good-looking women who
frequently change their minds.
sciddledeee dee
brown birdieeeee
hippity bippetty hoppety boppin
shhhoooooobop
boooooodilly bidddellly diddeleeeee
fiddleee ski bop
oooooobeee dooobeee
dadup scooodup
shooobity dooobity ooobity
ribbbety skibbety dibbety
doooooo wap
yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah
If I could choose to choose
what I chose to choose
when I chose what I chose
to choose,
would I choose to choose
what I chose to choose
when I chose to choose
what I chose?
Say it again, but
calmly, and I will listen –
agreeing or not.
(PS this was actually submitted on 6/24/18)
Dorito Dude
Where are you?
I have waited 25 long days to hear what you have to say
And still I find myself waiting
Counting the hours in my head
Clicking that refresh button, religiously
Just to see
Ayo
LETTERS TO THE DEAD: TWENTY-THREE
6/23/2018
Penny Lally (1919 – 2014)
Dear Mom,
“Is the stained glass too much?
Think of it in the late afternoon,
think of the struggling sunbeams
peering through a wall of stained glass.”
(from “Yates Paul, His Grand Flights, His Tootings”
by James Baker Hall)
I woke up this morning thinking of our house
in Paducah. Located on Broadway at the terminus
of the trolley line, it was built in 1910 as a show place
for Mr. Roddy, the head foreman of the Illinois Central
R.R. Yards, who moved from Chicago to take over operations.
(The family story was Mr. Roddy hung himself in the living
room closet after financial ruin during the Great Depression.)
An elegant two-story Victorian brick-stucco with an arched
entryway, a large comfortable screened-in front porch,
a fireplace, a vaulted passage with alcoves between
the living and dining rooms, a full size pantry and dinette,
put the house on the map for the Relators Association’s
“Cavalcade of Homes” in the 1920’s. Mom, I know that Dad
told the story he and his family had taken the trolley
out to tour the house that he would later live in and die in.
I was in first grade when we moved there in 1954 and left
for the seminary eight years later, but in my mind our house
is such an actual presence , I should be writing this letter to
2727 Broadway, Paducah, Kentucky.
Because you made everything but the salad, I’m sure
you remember the Saturday evening formal dinners
when several guests (often clergy) were invited and
we’d use the best china; afterwards we had to stay
at the table while the adults discussed politics or religion.
Dad was a city commissioner, on the Public Water Board
and the Catholic school and hospital boards, etc.,
there seemed no end to the people who graced our house.
When the kids left and Dad’s health declined, the dinners,
parties, and get-togethers lessened but there were still many
comings and goings, especially around St. Patrick’s Day.
After Dad’s third major heart attack in 1974, he went on
disability but the two of you were finally able to enjoy each
other’s company. You traveled all over Kentucky and the USA
visiting your children, relatives and friends. You journeyed
to Ireland where Dad was able to meet up with his cousins.
Dad continued to have close calls with his heart but you were
always there to pull him through.
I was not around much – busy being a husband, parent and
teacher who lived six hours away. We came for the holidays,
then once or twice more during the year. The kids loved being
there with the two of you taking them around to see the sights.
During our 1983 spring break, Ellie and I decided to visit you for
St. Patrick’s Day. That year a newspaper reporter interviewed Dad
for an article on Irish culture of Paducah and the TV station
filmed a human interest segment with him dressed up in green.
Mom, we had not planned to stay through the weekend but how
could we leave with all of the excitement? We were still there
on Saturday the 19th visiting relatives then going with you
and Dad and the kids to get something to eat. Mom, you went
with Ellie and the kids to the jewelers to get a ring sized.
Home alone with Dad as he rested from all the activity, I sat
at the foot of his bed watching a U.K. basketball game
with the sound turned down. Suddenly Dad gasped, raised up
from his pillow, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed back
into his bed. Mom, I was certain he was gone and I thought
of all the loud intrusions if I called for an ambulance. I held
him in my arms, told him things that I’d never told him before,
told him that I loved him. I opened the drapes to your beautiful
bedroom windows with their beveled glass that would at times
refract the afternoon sun and make a prism of light on your bed.
Mom, I’m sure your memory of the rest of that day is a lot
better than mine. I know of all the losses you’ve had, not being
with Dad when he passed was greatest. You never mentioned
it to me and we went on to have some joyous times over the next
30 years. But that day always remained an unspoken bond of trust
and sorrow between us.
Love, Jim
panic-inducing
inclines in san francisco
i might die walking
I. sunday in sf
____________________________________
chorus of voices
fiddle, ukelele—late
night hootenanny
II. mon./tues., fairmont hotel
____________________________________
i thought it was vince
gill but that was actually
bryan adams . . . hrm
III. music, hostel breakfast table
____________________________________
wear lacy black bell
sleeves. write in violet ink to
“unchained melody”
IV. wed. a.m. coffee in front of hostel kitchen window
