The Crab who Could

Most crabs are content to simply scurry

to skip through the surf in an almighty hurry

but some crabs hate getting sand in their eyes

plus, they want to go tanning

so they learn how to fly!

~Jesse Doe, and the crab from bali - If you hate wet feet, learn to hover.

The man in an underground in france

He is going somewhere- maybe to work, in a tiny green cubicle.

Maybe he's the guy in the office everyone loves,
they always pull him into their lunch groups for a good gossip
and greet him as he strides past on errands "Hey Carl!"
He's never going to get promoted, but that's ok
he likes his little desk and computer and chair and the privacy of his tiny cubicle
cause when no one is watching ;
he whips out the spectacles no one knows he needs
and from his desk drawer, he reverently extracts -a comic prototype.
6 months of his time have been poured into this baby;

A re-telling of Romeo and Juliet with a steampunk twist, where the lovers meet at A Burning Man convention and later, rendezvous in Romeo's hot-air balloon. The pair gleam out from the cover, his arms thrown about her corseted waist. Every detail painstakingly drawn, from the tiniest cog in the air-balloon to the monocle-chain dangling from Romeo's chest pocket. It took him two days alone just to get Juliet's curls looking just right, like they'd been blown free of a tiresome hat.

And it's almost complete. Just two more pages, and he'll be ready to go to print. The day job is simply for money. It's the fuel that allows his hands to keep on drawing, to keep alive a name, and reputation, he assumes only in that other world where people have seen what his hands can really do besides type 300 words a minute.

and so, our man gets to work, editing, culling, sketching

then,
footsteps approach
the tools of the trade disappear, and by the time Bob the Computer repair guy rounds the corner-
"hey Bob"
"hey Carl"
"hey"
and no one's any the wiser.



Or maybe he's just kinda, going to work doing insurance or something where he'll answer angry calls from people with burnt houses all day.

Promotion Day

One look out the window,  the vast plain of "beyond"  is waiting. 

Smile teeth check no aliengreen things there- good good, pearly whites are white,

charming smile to set client at ease and dimples to charm ladies. 

Bristles? oh no 5o'clock shadow at 8 in the morning quick wheres the soap? foam lather dont cut yourself cuts do not look good, not with a jaw like this.

Cuts are for the masses, for the fathers trying to make it to their tiny cubicle or ballet recitals or ballgames on time 

ok now rinse. 

Shirt? pressed. flat as the road to success, easy and smooth, cufflinks silver or platinum? 

silver to match the tie pin then pulling the 

silky rope around the yoke, 4 swift movements for a windsor knot 

(to exlude charm, confidence, poise) and 2 more to pull it tight and 

straighten belt matches shoes , just one shade of brown apart this is real leather from a real dead cow.

Adjust in front of the mirror adjust dont fidget 

fidgeting is for women are you a woman? 

No. 

Then don’t.  

Check hair yes combed in place suit and tie straight to make 

it nowadays you gotta look like you’ve already made it 

(oh no hurry Joe is waking I can hear the water running) 

ok ok zippers zipped shoes tied cuffs fastened buttons done up

(shit is Heather up too? I hear thumping in her pink room)   

ok briefcase and papers , soy-low fat latte in hand, now one step out the front door twostep down the driveway and waltz off to work. 

Oh hello children. Go find mommy in the kitchen.

Bye honey!

( Mommy, was that daddy?

 He didn't even hug us goodbye- doesnt he love us anymore? mommy? 

Momm- )

(give daddy a break kids, he's just stressed from work thats all. He’s still your daddy and loves us all very much)

(maybe he just needs to be reminded of that)

The Wedding Tie

I am the choker around your neck
Shackling you to Adulthood
(boy, there's no turning back)
knotted, re-knotted, again and again
(calming your nerves perhaps?)
if only love was simple, and plain

The doors sweep open, the familiar tune plays
your tongue ties the same as when you first met
( brain flowing through memories of days)
don't faint, don't faint!
even if your palms sweat

Years Later;
you both sit on the sofa
and yell at the referee on TV
(still side by side in love, how sweet)
voices buzzing, grumbling, in comfortable harmony
Maybe age is stealing your mind away-
or has it buried the puppy-love, young love of yesterday?
(wifey doesn't dust in the storeroom anymore)
or she'd find me greying on the floor
forgotten, like the corner of your heart that's
filled with the tremor of the day you gathered your nerve,
and swore
"till death do us part"



~JD, 2007