Madison Street: "Mea culpa"

 

 

Boysenberry ice cream

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mea culpa

 

Ringing his bell, old Ciccio Antony,

the ice cream man, arrives. For just five cents

you get to taste the flavor-of-the-day,

but on your birthday, two big dips for free.

Having had enough of indigence

that sweltering Fourth, and knowing I might pay

a hefty price, I coolly jumped the line,

barefacedly alleged I’d just turned nine,

then claimed my purple prize. But someone knew

I’d come into the world in January.

Wasting not a minute, Eddie blew

the whistle on my luscious boysenberry

sin. Still, I got off with just a few

Our Fathers and a fervent Hail Mary.

 

 

 

Madison Street: "Boots"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 "Boots"

 

When Mr. Cooper died at ninety-three

his house was rented out in no time flat --

for who would buy a rundown clapboard painted

what kindly Mrs. Lake called “burgundy”?

Still, the gentle man who’d tipped his hat

was missed. So Mrs. Moffat nearly fainted

when in moved Boots, her mother, and her daughter

(Tsk-tsk, born out of wedlock!); but I thought her

cool. They called her Boots because she wore

red high-heeled boots no matter where she went.

Phil’s father claimed she was a two-bit whore

who had to turn cheap tricks to pay the rent.

But after Boots decamped to Baltimore,

I’d ape her swagger to my heart’s content.

 

Note: An earlier version of "Boots" published as "Luxuria" [Lust] as one of the sonnets in "SALIGIA: Seven Deadly Sonnets" can be found in my second collection, Glad and Sorry Seasons.  

 

Madison Street: Mrs. Moffat

 

From the Website "Ridiculously Retro" - Spring Cleaning - the 50s way

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mrs. Moffat

 

She’s out there early with her rubber gloves

and Comet cleanser, scowling at the smudge

or speck she may have overlooked last time.

 

I wonder whether Mrs. Moffat loves

the dull endeavors of the household drudge

or simply hates the mere idea of grime.

 

The mailman and the paperboy are wary

of Mrs. Moffat.  Children think she’s scary.

 

She scours her front porch steps and even sweeps

the little swath of dirt that runs between

the sidewalk and the curb; and though she keeps

her panes impeccable, her storm door clean,

who’s to know if Mrs. Moffat weeps

when no one rings her bell on Halloween.

 

 

 

 

 

Madison Street: Kidnapped!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kidnapped!

 

One summer, after dark, when all the bats

had come and gone, and we’d squeezed diamond rings

from lightning bugs we’d captured in a jar,

we heard the screeches  -- was it Mildred’s cats,

we wondered, or some drunken ding-a-lings,

or Davie torturing his steel guitar?

We didn't know the symbol of the Fates

could be a Chevy with New Jersey plates.

 

Our neighbor's brutal ex had forced his way

into her house and snatched young Jimmy, who

had just been put to bed. Somewhere, someday

the cops might get a tip and follow through;

that is, if Jimmy’s in the USA,

not spirited away to Timbuktu.