the radar was awash with hot reds and bluesA Poem by Philip Gaber Had
a collage of ideas brainstorming inside of me.
There was a high-pressure
system moving up my spinal column. The heat index in my genital
area was a hundred plus, and the winds were blowing north/northeasterly and
gusting up to 70 miles an hour in the canals of my ears. I had to take an
anti-depressant to calm the seas. Otherwise, the waves would have crashed over
me and sent me plummeting to the depths of the abyss where oxygen is
scarce, and the sharks and the piranhas would have detected my
lifeblood and bleeding ulcer. Then somebody threw me a life
preserver (it was my analyst), but it was made of cement. The old man in the sea hooked
me on his sword fishing pole (using booze as bait), but when he pulled me onto
his boat, he told me I was below the legal limit, removed the bottle from my
mouth, and returned me to my watery limbo. Then the ancient mariner
sailed past me, shook his elderly head, and pointed to the albatross around his
neck. “I’m already way in over my head,” he said. I trod water for months. I caught the swimmer’s ear,
listening to a seashell. I happened upon a
double-amputee mermaid. She said, “I’m looking for my
fatal charm; I have lost it. Can you help me find it?” “I hear they’re doing
wonderful things with prosthetics these days,” I said. Disappointed, her torso swam
away. (I never did have much of a rap with the ladies). My lousy luck with women
began in the womb. I’d kick my mother like a kickboxer. She’d fight back by
punching her stomach. “Don’t you ever do that to me again!” she’d scream. The
match lasted nine months. The judges scored it a draw. There was not a rematch. Ironically, a parochial
school of fish came to my aid. I told them I was Jewish. They mused, “That’s
alright. We have very catholic tastes.” “It doesn’t bother you that I
don’t believe in the holy trinity or Immaculate Conception?” “Down here, there’s only one
school of thought,” the parish leader said. “Sink or swim.” © 2024 Philip Gaber |
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Added on July 12, 2024 Last Updated on July 12, 2024 AuthorPhilip GaberCharlotte, NCAboutI hate writing biographies. I was one of those kids who rode a banana seat bike and watched Saturday morning cartoons and Soul Train. But my mother would never buy any of those sugary cereals for us k.. more..Writing
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