Beyond The Velvet Drape


A laggard trick-or-treater
In a tiny cowl and cape
Came scratching at our windowpane
Beyond the velvet drape

We bid him take his leave of us
As midnight was too late
For foolish pagan rituals
We’d ne’er accommodate

He wept and told us that
They dubbed him Little Orphan Andy
He begged us for one single lick
Of copper-flavored candy

The night wore on, he ground us down
With endless tales of loss and woe
Our strife was just beginning
In the light of morning’s saffron glow

 

Wylde Abandyn 04/21/17

Cardboard Monkey


I hitch a ride with this cardboard monkey
he chatters away non-stop about some dick Harry at work
climbing his way to the top of the corporate canopy
where he can kick back and suck the fruits
of the cardboard monkey’s labors
 
I don’t care to mind his boring business so I pretend sleep
the cardboard monkey goes bananas
hitting the steering wheel and shaking my sorry ass awake
exhibiting aggressive behavior
letting me know that I owe for my ride
undivided attention for a gallon of gas
 
I figure I can do that and sit up straight
the cardboard monkey relaxes and regroups
starts up again about the treachery of brown-nosed colleagues
what a jungle it is out there
and how we all gotta kill or be killed
 
I’m thinking it’s a metaphor and nod like I get it
the cardboard monkey reaches across my knees
making me sort of scrunch up in the seat
he pulls a gun out of the glove compartment and points it at my face

Wylde Abandyn 12/14/10

Lone Mountain Park

by Wylde Abandyn 02/23/15


they met in the park at dusk one day

two people shaped cutouts

darker than the shadow cast by the looming mountain

behind which the sun hid its face

ashamed as it was to witness such a personal moment

of internal pain and public discovery

 

she pushed a wheelchair draped in mourning black lace

he guided a baby carriage with the hood fully engaged

she spun him a yarn about her sickly old grampy

he told her a tale of single daddyhood

from within the draped wheelchair and the hooded baby carriage

silence

 

by the time that soft wind kicked up

the one that blows away the ashes of day

(night’s breath, she said grampy called it)

they were one in spirit

 

the next day, the garbage guy shook his head

as he tossed the perfectly good wheelchair

and brand new baby carriage

into the back of the truck

“You never know what you’ll find at the park,” he’d tell his wife later

 

Acrylic Waves


his mother stopped dusting

the garage sale painting

that hung over his bed

after he threw a righteous fit

he knew she didn’t get

his obsession with that

particular image of the sea

and he didn’t care

as long as it wasn’t disturbed

before he climbed through the frame

and drown himself

in the acrylic waves

 

Wylde Abandyn 12/05/04