The Fat Imp

The Fat Imp

At the edge of bed

Gathering phone in moose skin pouch

A new tablet with cords

Then remembering to brush teeth

Wash eyes and hands

Sandals 

To the kitchen

Fill water jugs in the fridge

Take first two pills of the day

Test for sugar

Test for pressure

Take temperature

The imp sends a photo

Rare

Since imps are mostly thin

Able to move quickly

Joking and playing tricks

Certainly not hobgoblinish tricks

They are mean

Like knocking the measuring cup

From a hand to break it in the sink

The hobgoblin plays mean

With the imp

Locked as they are in the home

Unseen and invisible to everyone

Except each other

The gob is seen by the imp

Imagined really

Since the imp is alone often crying

Over spilt flour and tea

Tomorrow is bread day

Tonight the fish dipped in batter

Fried to the imp's strict recipe

Meals planned days in advance

Since he's fat and hungry

To play a trick on himself

His mind mixes the tartar sauce

As an old horn concerto

Mixes notes with Chopin

How strange for the imp

Who will call this familiar 

Spawn of Satan today

Something that sounds common

In his life

Since his friends are also

Unprotected from words that wound

He feels them in others

A failing of this life

That should have covered him

In alligator skin and tank steel

And so the imp begins his emptiness

Today her Majesty the broadcast baroness

Filters room to room

The couch says

The tea cools

Batteries charge

A dark day with rain

Is the shade of Satan

As is every sunny day

The old fat imp

Presses forward in lockstep

With the phalanxes of other imps

Killing silence

Shredding a lonely day

With questions 

Barry G. Wick

Hidden Baggage

Hidden Baggage

We bring baggage on these trips

Even when we're alone sitting

In an old person's room

With spider webs hanging

In the corners

I bring the Black Hills

With my own thoughts

Of Mt. Rushmore.

Plus all the people

We took as guests there

Through old days years

People expect their local friend

To act as tour guide

No it's okay I'll wait

I've been here hundreds of times

I don't need to hear or see

The hypocrisy again

It's tattooed on my body and brain

Invisibly with nothing ink

Then a satchel full of stories

Spread each time we visit

The poets house on the far hill

On the curb with the view

That's ok in the waves

Of chipmonks and noisy children

Off to the buffalo

Stay in the jeep cannot

Yeah he's two feet away

Thinking he'll horn your face

Hanging out the window

A hundred degrees in the shade

Nice crop of sage this year

Pick it and get caught

You'll pay your fine

Before the college loan

Leave the rock

Public property

Fingerprints are traceable

Now the flight back to Rapid City

Or Deadwood or Sturgis

The headline reads

Tourist Gored by Buffalo

I remember that lady behind

Us on the Harley

No update on condition

But I know the buffalo

Is smirking once again

Barry G. Wick

Going Nuts

Going Nuts

It's soon time to go completely nuts.

It's important to be remembered

As the member of the family

Who was completely on the bizarre

Side of existence when a person

Crafts bow ties for bees

Puts lipstick on flowers

Massages trees with baby oil

Cuts the lawn with a scissors

Rolls naked down grassy hills

Wanders dark streets in top hats

All decisions are made with

The yes-no-maybe wheel

And ends every sentence with +

As if to signify there's more +

Then coming to the thought

That's how life should be lived

Every day+

Barry G. Wick

 

The Treaty

The Treaty

When childhood is over,

When the parents push you out,

Even for the world of work,

Or higher education,

A treaty is made with the world

That says you belong to you,

Unless you elect to stay

Close to the family.

Major decisions belong to you

As do mistakes and goofs

And all matter of wrongs

Against the others who live

In the town.

There are those who believe

You owe your government

Whatever the government says you owe.

If you get pregnant

The government's say you owe

The product of that pregnancy

For paying taxes

Service to society

As a soldier in war.

Only women no longer

Belong to themselves ever.

If a man wants to use

A woman's body 

the precedent has been set in stone.

Women can be forced to have babies.

Which means men can legally force

Women to have sex.

Never mind anti-rape laws,

Kidnapping laws,

Raped and pregnant

The man owns the woman's body.

It's his treaty with society.

The baby and all children from his woman

Belong to him.

This includes the girls he brings

Into the world.

Forget their mothers.

They have no freedom for anything.

So says thirty states

And the Supreme Court.

The men voted.

They own the law.

They own the women.

Even the women they convince

To be their slaves to their law

I thought we rid ourselves of slavery.

I thought people belonged to themselves.

I guess I don't and the women I've known 

Don't own themselves.

That is so, so wrong.

Barry G. Wick