she drove up this evening, before sunset,
in her silver volkswagen beetle, one of the new kind.
it made a loud rackety clacking noise, as though
it really were powered by hamsters on a wheel.
many hamsters, on a large wheel.
i watched from the kitchen window. our son, hers and mine,
had gone out to meet her. the two of them
stood by the gate, talking in the evening’s
golden light. i could not see her face.
her hair was very chestnut in the light,
but i believe she colors it now.
i saw her figure in profile. she has a bit of a belly.
so do i. we age.
as i watched her i thought,
i used to fuck the daylights out of her,
then felt vaguely frightened and annoyed that such a thought
would run through my head, snatching words along its way.
i washed my hands at the kitchen sink. when she
drove away, her silver volkswagen beetle
was so quiet, i didn’t hear her leave.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
home for the christmas holidays,
i snuck to the garage of my parents’ house to get high.
everyone else was in the house on the other side of the door that led
from dad’s green garage to mom’s red kitchen.
i laid my works out on dad’s workbench,
my papers and baggie on a magazine’s glossy cover photo,
some comely wench.
listening to the noises of voices coming muffled from the kitchen,
i tried to roll a cigarette but my fingertips were slick and dry,
the marijuana crumbly.
dad came to the door, opened it, said,
whatcha doin’, little buddy?
are ya makin’ any money yet?
no, no, i mumbled, wadding my works up in my hand, hiding what i could hide.
dad said, why’ncha come inside?
he was smiling,
we’re all making money in here.
he walked back into the warm-looking kitchen.
i heard mom’s laughter, and brother joey’s confident, even voice saying,
fuck your money, dad,
i want my daughters to learn about pornography.
i think they’re old enough now.
i can help, i called from where i stood,
i have some right here.
one of joey’s daughters, the youngest,
came out to see.
i pulled a glossy magazine from the rack on top of dad’s workbench.
take this and look at it, i said, and gave her the magazine.
practice, practice, practice, i told her.
i watched her walk back into the kitchen.
she’s beginning to get hips.
i still very much wanted to get high,
but dinner was about to be served.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“Nature is always magnificent when dealing with the privileges and prerogatives of love. She becomes miserly only when doling out the organs and instruments of labour. She is especially severe on what men have termed virtue, whereas she strews the path of the most uninteresting lovers with innumerable jewels and favours. ‘Unite and multiply; there is no other law, or aim, than love,’ would seem to be her constant cry on all sides, while she mutters to herself, perhaps: ‘and exist afterwards if you can; that is no concern of mine.’ ” – Maurice Maeterlinck, The Life of the Bee