Posted in Books & Stories, coffee, Just Poetry, Movies

Freshen Up


Well I think now at 2 a.m. as I’m winding down I should wash my face

Haven’t done that yet and brush my teeth after this coffee

Strong but with no effect I’ll tell you the Italians know how to do it right

Though others do try but not enough bold and dark

If it were wouldn’t have to paste it over the wrapper

Not bad though I’ll keep it on the counter

Honorable mention


How rapid I type

Still I’ll wash up again and watch To Wong Foo and he-men playing women

They make the best like many women want to be

How do they do it


Men make the best women because they’re free

No hangups not insecure they can be their own fantasy

The way we should be no criticism or comments

Condemnation nigh

They’d deck the sexists for sure

Not from them these three

Wise men perhaps bringing gifts from afar

The way it should be

Posted in Fiction & Poetry, Flashback And Memoir

Till Death, Belladonna And Opium



Hallucinate visions from the corner of my eye

This way then vanished never there

Dream recurring all different times

Far off place little man at my side

Surrounded by the rich the famous I see

Checking in a room quite a view

A place of great elegance good music good food

They insist to be friends an honor would be but

Not rich an unknown why talk to me

A wonderment for certain


Did I nod?

Where am I?

Shouldn’t take these things

Medication not mine


I hear a din, a sound

Little ones play company surrounds

Not alone any more

Weakened mind little man fades

Catch a glimpse again

Trails on a chest of drawers, is something there

Look close it’s gone

Unsafe dread feeling abounds

Get out now

It began to dissolve as heads dropped in shame

Children stopped laughing images away

Alone were we in an elegant place



Bright and early 7 a.m. I arrived. He looks a little rough but I know he’s been up for a few hours by now tending his herd. Poor guy. Can’t say I blame him for using his wife’s B&O suppositories occasionally. He’d shown me pictures of them together on his bike, a Harley I think it was, popular in these parts. She was hefty, tough looking the two of them turned toward the camera. Here she was now wasting away in a hospital bed in their home. One side paralyzed, couldn’t speak and certainly didn’t like other women around. She still knew her husband. My assignment was four days a week, the maximum any agency could give. I wouldn’t miss it for his sake and I’d take whatever it was she’d throw at me. He had to hold her one good arm still so she wouldn’t try to pummel me with it. He did let go one day and I still don’t believe she wrestled it away; he wanted a little thrill for himself. She grabbed my breast and squeezed with all her might. “Aaagh” I said as I looked up at him. Nothing I could do about it with one hand on the enema bag and the other digging her out. He was quick to recover although he could’ve been quicker. In fact, he couldn’t have let it happen at all. It wasn’t my fault he was having an affair with the housekeeper. I wouldn’t mess with him and diplomatically rerouted any implication or advances. She had to see that. Whatever happened she was first, I was there for her. Her husband I’d show respect to and support in how he wanted her care, that’s about all. He was critical of my technique but I stopped him dead in his tracks respectfully nonetheless. “Look, I have to learn these procedures and employ them but each person is different. Not everything works with everyone though some things are beneficial to keep infection down. What did you do when you were taking care of her before we got here?” I’d taken car of a bedridden diabetic man a while back who got bedsores on a regular basis. The nurse used the same medicated patches on the sores that would give him an infection every time because he was allergic to what they were made of – a vicious circle that after the sore healed he’d have to take an antibiotic for what he’d developed. So, why did the nurse keep using it? Anyway, that did it. We’d discuss, he’d ask questions, we’d figure out what was best according what I was trained to do and what he knew worked with his wife and together we came up with a morning routine. Still, it’s funny what happens when “for better or worse” becomes reality. Not everyone does well with “for worse”, one too many times all bets are off.


Confident enough, after the enema he’d stepped out to give attention to farming keeping in mind when I’d be leaving. As she peacefully slept I gently clicked the rails to her bed locked, made certain she was covered up and packed my supplies. En route to my car he pulled up in his truck, that look was on his face. “What about my bath?” I stopped and looked up at him. “Vince, do you want me to go back in the house? You’re the only visit I have today.” I spoke in a scolding tone. He thought for a minute, “Nah, you go ahead.” “Alright” and I continued to the car. Glad I didn’t have to do anything further to thwart that one. As a rule he doesn’t make those kinds of requests. Must’ve satisfied him enough.


He needs to lay off those things.