Frank Zappa was right you are what you is

by Wanda Morrow Clevenger

the meek won’t inherit
the earth, hornets will
burrowed in high rise
condominiums
hidden in plain sight
that one sentry
ready eager
for battle
that fatal
pheromone radar
bearing down

they make a mockery
our being, theology,
space station squatted
on our shed
on our magnolia branch

they know they
don’t need a god
to create
orchestrate, obliterate
they are already
omnipotent

silent treatment

by Wanda Morrow Clevenger

worst part
of fighting
with him
is the
prolonged
silent
black eye
of
Katrina

the expanse
spent sorting
fury
and chaos
on yard sale
tables

putting a
price
to damages

what to
let go
for pennies

what to
hoard
for the next
landfall

Just Playing Around

by Wanda Morrow Clevenger

Ralph Henson's S-10 pickup barreled into Mickey's Roadhouse parking lot, kicking up a shower of white rock.  Couples groping in the shadows unclenched to witness him bolt from the truck, leaving the door hanging and ignition beeping.  His jaw set tight as a rusted vice grip, he cleared the distance to the front door faster than any young punk on the property.

Raising three girls had proved more challenging than rounding up wild mustangs.  He'd figured out early on there was small chance of keeping them corralled for long.  High-spirited, every single one.  But Ralph was still the papa, and responsible for protecting his fillies.

Good ol' boys Nick and Jake leaned against the bar.  Three shots of Wild Turkey under his belt had loosened Nick's tongue.

“Kelsey gave it up?  What is she, seventeen, eighteen?” Jake said, crooked mule teeth crowding a wide grin.  “How'd you pull that off?  Win a bet?  No wait, I know.  She lost at rock, paper, scissors.  And I'm guessing you cheated.”

“I'm not without certain charms.”  Nick pushed the brim of his custom Stetson back on his forehead an inch. “Problem is, she's calling everyday leaving messages.  Ain't no man wants a clinging ivy.”

“You done with her then?”

“Just moving to the next pond.  Plenty more fish to snag.  Catch and release––all the fun, none of the work.”

Mickey's door crashed open and twenty heads swung around as one.

Ralph took four determined steps forward, John Wayne's silver spurs jangling inside his head.  “I'm looking for Nick Butler.”  Bearded bikers scooted back from their beers and rose.  Ralph's elbows braced against his rigid torso.  “Anybody seen him?  The scrawny son-of-a-skunk wears a hat too big for his britches.”

A rodeo romeo stood.  “We're all friends here, mister,” he said, his hands outstretched in a welcoming manner.  “Nobody wants trouble.”  Three studded-shirt buddies joined him.  “Don't give us a reason . . .”       

Teeth clinched, Ralph snaked his way around the outer tables.  Tattooed toughs found their feet, outnumbering Ralph in number and brawn.  The barkeep hoisted a baseball bat as fair warning. 

“My oldest girl's name is Kelsey Renee Henson.”  Ralph spoke loud enough for the cockroaches inside the walls to hear.  “She's sixteen years and two months.”  He shoved past a frowning brute in a cowhide vest.  “I'll say it one more time.  I'm looking for Nick Butler.  Anyone has a problem with that, line up.”

“I got a daughter,” called from inside the crowd.  With mumbles and boot shuffles and bottle rattles, the room opened like the parting of the Red Sea.  “Just holler if you run out of knuckles, old man.”

Jake dove for cover.  Ralph spotted Nick, a frozen Bambi in the headlights, and charged; they hit the gritty floor in a grunting tumble.  Besting the boy to enthusiastic cheering, Ralph straddled Nick, a wad of shirt in one fist, the other poised to rearrange Nick's nose.

“Take a long look in the mirror, playboy,” Ralph said.  “Before it breaks.”

Third Eye

by Wanda Morrow Clevenger

I fell into an easy friendship
with the new girl unlike me
she didn't commute an hour to work
knew her way around a big city
introduced me to ken outside
my radar

like the eyeball ring at the headshop
I had passed blind a dozen times
making for the Estée counter
we both tried it on but she couldn't
swing the price tag and I couldn't
wrap my head around mystic milieu.

At a Thursday night sleepover
we had some beers at a dark bar,
me casing the boys
who weren't boys.

I had learned a new dance step
to Thursday dark bar music
and another thing;
I was relieved she had twin beds.

Just for grins, I was tempted
to buy the eyeball ring
but by then neither of us needed
third eye vision.

layover

by Wanda Morrow Clevenger

those grub jobs
and crud bosses
weren’t more
than a high school grad
could expect
but
I got to dress up
and show my legs
and buy
my own beers
and
tell myself I was
on the way
up
somewhere

and really
they were
all of them
all of it
disposable

a layover
until
I was somewhere
else where
someone else
bought
the beers

Banned for Life

by Wanda Morrow Clevenger

A brew in his right paw
the young kid with the
friendly smile
at the end of the bar
talked to Monte
a round.
Cindy replaced
his empties before
he could signal
another.

We went next door
to look for Scott
and Monte talked
to another guy he knew
for a round
before
we met up with Scott
a round later back

where the friendly kid
had swallowed his
smile, children,
divorce petition
and jumped
a stranger
from behind.

Monte heaved the kid
off the floor and out the door
rubber arms swinging
at nothing at everything
and drove him home.
Someone handed the kid’s
jacket over the counter.

Cindy said he was banned
for life
on her shifts.

Everyone settled back
into the canned tunes.
Scott and I finished
a last round without
talking much.

When Cindy was
let go
the place lost
its charm.  All
but for a notice
taped above
the cash register
reminding how
the kid
was banned
for life.