scotch

 

My dear madam

chilled though I am I

still enjoy the icy tinge of

your grand city as I sit on the 

patio of my tiny beach abode blown

ragged by fierce ocean breezes and 

sprinkled with spray from angry waves

the morning’s weak yellow light suits me

reticent that I am I need a hound to walk 

beside me or perhaps to lope so I too might

run from token accolades not meant for me

no Earl Grey this day only a fine Scotch will do 

thrown back to burn my insides raw 

shot upon shot sears my throat I hope

for redemption but you join me bearing 

a bag of cannoli a luscious distraction of 

sugar and fat and cream and tea you

bring tea hateful builders tea but 

so soothing against my bitter loss 

©kcasady2017

vow

when you remember 

but not really you think

you remember but as you

reach back you find nothing

but vagaries and fog but you

say things like you would remember

if there was something to remember

but you don’t remember because you

can’t but you think you should remember 

every detail but they are gone folded beneath

everyday rubbish and daily detritus so common they

weigh down and blur memories into fond 

nothingness but that murk filled hole astonishes you

and you wonder even though you vowed to remember

all you do not and you can not but you dare not let 

on lest they pat your hand and kiss the top of your 

head because they too know you don’t remember 

because you can’t and you decide you 

don’t want to remember

©kcasady2017

afghan

 My dear madam

perhaps someone else should

tie my ties old habits die hard

I am not royalty I have no dresser

perhaps I need a new mirror or an 

upgrade on my spectacles that I might

discern the error of my beloved schoolboy

knot in favor of a Windsor that my four-in-hand

might disappear though its origins be posh and its

uses beyond fashion yet you call me to task and sing out

displeasure with no heed to my memories of nimble 

boyhood and exuberant youth when slight of hand and

cunning depended upon quickness and tie tying was by

necessity innate and organic and so my knot remains as

a medallion a story telling chronicle of my past which should

you desire I would gladly share perhaps one night our hands 

warmed by builders’ tea as we settle before the fire swaddled

in an afghan

©kcasady2017

purpose

 

My dear madam

earl grey with lemon tingles 

multitudinous taste buds so common

that seasoned teapots coo as tea leaves

carouse and raise a ruckus colliding with

intention bent upon releasing their souls in

pursuit of their singular purpose but add a bit of 

lapsang souchong and the teapot quiets in serious 

repose squiring the exquisite newcomers as earl grey 

bows in deference to pungent smokiness and

the masses give way to an acquired taste posh 

perhaps but do join me in a cup of milky builders shunning

leaves for the mundane bag in a hapless mug splashed 

with a douse of cold milk sprinkled by a shower of sugar

clutched in your freezing hands your body draped in

an afghan settled in front of my warm fire…

©kcasady2017

habiliments

 

My dear madam

your curiosity beguiles me your

nosiness tantalizes and charms me with

such adroitness and acumen that no choice

exists but to oblige you and find a wife from

among those who think I dress like a puppy because 

I take the first pair of trousers off 

the top of the pile of clothes accumulating in my 

boudoir since as my favorites they land in that 

order and the pile of course the pile for how 

senseless to put away garb deemed 

wearable again and how simple to 

grab my daily habiliments and

sport a tattered tee covered by a frumpy

jacket but this wife of which you speak says

you clean up well and I nod I take note and leave

©kcasady2017

goddess

 

My dear madam

who is this goddess you worship

with whom you collude tete a tete deriving

plans voluminous and fanciful creating 

a veritable amusement park full of

illusory merry go rounds and dizzying

roller coasters upon which you ride begging me 

to attend to jump on your wild fling 

a glass of wine you say when 

only a bottle will do to elevate

flirty banter into the heights of mighty discourse and

lofty rhetoric where upon age and beauty as the subject

blend into seamless panoramas of Davidian sunsets and Jacobean 

dawns but your goddess joins the fray whispering in your ear

delusional scripts while she lounges on your shoulder a thing of beauty

a Machiavellian nude pecking at your wondrous hair but as is my

wont I take your hand and s’il vous plait et non et de rien disappear

bound up in goddess’ entrails splattered as she falls back into heaven

©kcasady2017

podium

 

My dear madam

in your dreams you say and

perhaps there I should stay among

the shadows and replayed minutes the

mixed up images and words the 

nonsensical mashup blathering along your

cortex filtering through your medulla creating

epics of running naked down busy streets and

eternal circles gathering dust among book stacks

where only I as your muse sort the dribs and

drabs tossing bits here and there as they rebound

bounce recur repeat with only I as guiding master 

bringing to fruition the final piece of random

letters on a blank screen perhaps that 

should remain my soulful purpose leaving the 

recitation to others better suited to utter 

fine words punctuated by nuanced gesture though

it appears you would have me do both to which

I cry “Fie! ‘Tis unfair!” to which you offer no quarter and

insist I touch the moon on your behalf but I watch your eyes

from where I sit darting about in your sleep and I am with

you as you conjure the future while dwelling in the 

past but you take my hand walk me to the podium and 

there I stand and there I begin

©kcasady2017