Ragin’ Ravin’ Asians (part I)
“Animal Hospital”
A ten-foot bear offers a patient pancakes with syrup and butter,
“They’re a little burnt, but the carbs will soothe you.”
A tiny yellow bird chirps,
“How ‘bout some egg waffles with condensed milk instead?
You look like you need more protein and sugar.”
A tiger purrs behind red velvet curtains,
“I just caught this, have some tapir tartare -
you need more iron and vitamin B.”
A bloody pawful of thick wine glaze
plop, plop, plopping onto immaculate linoleum floors.
A civet cat says,
“I just brewed my own coffee.
How ‘bout a cuppa? You need caffeine.”
A cow spits and sniffs,
“Maybe fresh patties of the best bovine biome?
Your jungle smells endangered.”
Doctor Dog rushes over after resuscitating the elephant in room two,
“How can we help you?”
The patient says, “... I just need a COVID test for school.”
“bmoc”
What happened to the Big Man on Campus?
Student body president, trustees scholar, swim team captain –
he married a princess on graduation.
What happened to the Big Man on campus?
Favorite passenger in first class, mile-high club with anonymous honeys,
tipping Benjamins at the bar while his kids scrape change jar for milk money.
What happened to the big Man on campus?
Brioni suits, John Lobb shoes, Macallan 60s packed in his Hermès Orion,
Man flees garnished wages and debt collectors .
Whatever happened to the big man on campus?
Found under a plastic shelf after two days’ silence:
in
rigor
mortis.
Phone, water, power off; rat bites on bare toes.
(In memoriam CHCP)
uncredited photo of young Steven Morrissey, circa 1985.
“Summer Salad”
On Saturday mornings at 7:00 AM a line snakes
down three blocks, each queuer six feet apart,
murmurs muffled behind masks.
Some in line since 6:00 AM.
When farmers market opens early,
a heat warning: over 100℉ by eleven AM.
A bright white refrigerator truck with “Harry’s Berries”
neatly printed in red on the doors brings Amanda’s crew.
They leave Oxnard by 4:00 AM.
A separate queue the length of the soccer field forms
for Gaviota strawberries; some berries go by plane to Per Se,
neighborhood farmers markets get the rest.
At 8:00 AM, a faint sweet scent lingers, but a sign at the front:
“sorry, strawberries sold out.”
Andrea from Tenerelli Orchards picks nectarines and pluots for Cecelia’s tarts, Severino packs the choicest O’Henry peaches into 10-lb boxes
for creameries, bakeries, and some hospitals.
John says that peach slices top pizzas with arugula, basil, and burrata.
Baltazar Farms arrange still lifes of mushrooms and herbs in baskets, mixed field greens and arugula tied in bundles with ribbons and neat, calligraphy labels.
Oyster and shiitake mushrooms next to
Giant portobello discs, maitakes with lacy petals
Corn in their cream silks and jade husks; heirloom tomatoes - Black Cherry purple Cherokee brown and red, Brandywine yellow and pink; yellow and green zucchinis; bright artichokes blooming on a stem; seedless yellow watermelons all crowd Underwood Family Farms stand.
Their own queue forms a maze.
In August 2019 we brought the Farmers Market to our favorite cafe and chef for a birthday dinner with seared mushrooms, strawberry and chevre salad,
peaches and cream cake.
In August 2020 the cafe and chef have closed shop; we haul the Farmers Market
to a house of sleeping teens for a breakfast summer salad.
“House”
In June a four-f00t tall trash bin arrived in a cardboard box.
The giant box became Billy’s new house.
A pocket knife carved out doors, windows, and a skylight.
Billy’s big sister wrote a menu; the house became a cafe.
The house propelled them to outer space, to anywhere on earth.
After lunch their rocket landed in the Savannah,
returned before dinner and brought
a baby lion, oops.
The cub went back - he did not care for his dinner of kale.
After evening bath, big sister wrote, “our house” on top of the door.
Billy slept under thick, warm blankets piled inside his new house.
His new house stood under his parents’ roof.
By November Billy’s house went out to the curb for recycling.
On their way to grandma’s for Thanksgiving lunch,
they saw their old house under a bridge on Beverly Boulevard.
All photos by the poet, unless otherwise credited.