The Hare And The Tortoise

A hare, a hairy one,

Foul was his disposition,

Fast, frantic, furious,

The fastest and finest, he thought he was.

The tortoise was stodgy,

Slow, to the point (when there was one),

Serious, sure, stoic,

The sum of everything that was, well, boring.

Trotting along, the hare tripped,

Over a rock, he thought,

Peering, he saw,

That it was actually a tortoise.

“Hey, mother*ucker,

Can’t you get out of the way?

Don’t park your as* in the middle of the road man,

I’ll shove something up it.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not that quick,

Get out of the way I couldn’t,

But I’m fast in a lot of ways,

MAYBE even faster than you!”

“Ho!” came the exclamation,

And with it, a challenge,

A year later, they would race,

And settle it, once and for all.

They met on the day decided,

With a crowd gathered around,

Some wanted to see one win, others the other lose,

Some were there for lack of something better.

Soon, the gun went off,

And the hare went off,

And the crowd went off,

But the tortoise stayed.

Not due to compulsion, oh no,

Not because he wanted to, either,

He was just so damn slow,

He was beginning to think he should have asked for two years.

The hare raced ahead,

Far, far ahead,

Soon, he began to get a little tired,

So he sat down, to rest.

He was tired because, over the year,

He had let himself go a little,

Around the middle, around the backside,

Around the thighs and legs.

All that beer couldn’t have been good,

All that nicotine was bad for sure,

All that weed, oh my!

Maybe he should’ve trained just a little.

Well, that damned rock was too far behind,

One hit wouldn’t hurt, would it?

He took out a pot stick, and lit it,

And floated away on a cloud.

Meanwhile, the tortoise plodded on,

Slow, steady, sure,

Until the finish was in sight,

Oh, the glorious white tape!

The hare awoke with a start,

And realized he had been dealt bad maal,

He had to kill that f*cking dealer,

But he had to win the race first.

It looked like it was too late,

The turtle was going to win,

But he looked like he would overheat,

So a kind otter poured some water over his head.

The hare came up on the horizon,

But the tortoise was almost there,

He had two steps to go,

When he keeled over and fainted.

With a glint in her eye, the otter grinned,

Some time ago,

She had made a promise,

A promise to the hare.

When his head was between her legs,

And he was doing his thing,

He made her promise, that she would do anything,

To make sure that he won.

She had tipped chloroform all over the tortoise,

And it would evaporate in a minute,

Leaving no traces,

Of her treachery.

She winked at the hare,

As he blew past the finish line,

Oh, what a victory it was,

No one even remembered the unconscious rock.

As he was borne on their shoulders,

The hare knew he had something to do,

He had to thank the otter that night,

And, oh, thank her he would.

Foe And Friend

Bar the door right now,

It’s not too late,

The horse has not bolted yet,

He stands still in the barn.

The messenger of death,

Hovers over your head,

Waiting for a slip,

Waiting for metal to touch skin.

He lurks in the shadows,

Touching the weak and the tired,

His power, boundless,

His patience, infinite.

He will wait forever,

For the mistake comes eventually,

The hollow rod passes through the outer,

And consumes the inner.

He stands with the coins,

The payment for the boatman,

For if you succumb to it,

The ride across the river will be your reward.

Plunger, plastic, mosquito bite,

Rose of blood in the clear cage,

Extended arm, cinched tightly,

And the silver bullet explodes.

But, despair not, for,

The messenger is not alone,

He has a foe, one he fears,

The foe of your foe is your friend.

He waits, with outstretched wings,

With power to save and to heal,

His patience knows no bounds,

His love is infinite.

Foe and friend, together they dwell,

Without them, within you,

Wither you shall, however,

Which shall you choose?

My Mama’s Face

I remember the day,

That my daddy walked out,

He just packed and left,

I remember my mama’s teary eyes.

I remember the day,

That the landlord chucked us onto the street,

No rent, no space, he said,

I remember my mama’s worried face.

I remember the time,

That my brother didn’t come home,

He had been caught in a drive-by,

I remember my mama’s sobbing mouth.

I remember the time,

That I was caught with the drugs,

They told me I could get shut up for a long time,

I remember my mama’s disappointed face.

I remember the day,

That my sister came home pregnant,

She said the daddy didn’t want nothing to do with her,

I remember my mama’s pursed lips.

We’ve had troubles, oh yes,

We’ve had more than our fair share,

But there have been times, good times,

Where I looked at my mama’s face and smiled.

I remember the day,

That I came home with my first paycheque,

It wasn’t much, but still,

I remember my mama’s smiling mouth.

I remember the day,

That my sister came home with her new husband,

He was tall, and he stood by her,

I remember my mama’s sparkling eyes.

And today, as I look down,

Into the crowd and see my mama,

Her smile as she sees my cap and gown,

I see my mama’s proud face.

I always want to see,

A twinkle in her eye, a smile on her lips,

I’ll do all that I can,

That’s how I want to see my mama’s face.

What Goes Around…

He sat patiently in the tall grass, waiting for just the right moment.  All his life, he had been taught that nothing would go right unless he waited for just the right moment.

So he waited.

If he didn’t, it would just fly past him in a blur of spots and stripes.  And then he’d have a fine time chasing the damn thing all over the grassland.  And he needed this.  He needed this badly.  The wife had been harassing him for those damn pearls that she saw in the store, and he had no choice but to give them to her.

Some days, he just wished that she would turn into an animal so that he could put a bullet in her damn head too.  Maybe a leopard or a rhino.

Yeah, that would fetch quite a bit.

He snapped out of his reverie when the cheetah ambled past him.  It was thin and long, all muscle and sinew.  It was covered with beautiful spots, and the tear streaks on it’s face were brilliantly contrasted against it’s yellowish-brown skin.  It was a beautiful animal.

It would look even more beautiful as a rug.

He looked down his sights, and locked the crosshairs over the place where he knew it’s heart was.  He was using a special kind of bullet, one that left tiny entry and exit marks.  Unblemished skin fetched a higher price, you see.  He accounted for the wind, and the curve of the bullet.  With animals like cheetahs, you only got one shot.

But one was all he needed.

He held his breath, and squeezed the trigger.  And a split second later, the animal keeled over onto it’s side.  He ran over to it, and saw that it was still breathing.  He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the syringe.  He stuck it into it’s side, and watched as the life slowly seeped out of it.

He drove his truck right upto it, then used the forklift in the back to hoist it onto the truck bed.

There…that would hold him steady for a while.  A perfect kill, no marks, no imperfections, no problems.

He started his engine and started for home.  He really enjoyed the grasslands…so many animals, so many of them profitable.  But he liked his home more…wooden floors, high ceilings, carpeting, four servants and the works.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t see the rhino lumber into his path.

He saw it at the last moment, and swerved to avoid it.  All he could see was the huge tree that he was heading for.  He was wrestling with the steering wheel, but that seemed to make no difference.

His jeep smashed headfirst into the tree.  He smashed headfirst into the steering wheel.

And then, darkness.

He woke up with his face feeling sticky and the smell of gasoline in the air.  Oh shit, the damn fuel was leaking.  He grabbed his gun and got out of the car, but fell over almost immediately.  He looked down, and saw that his leg was bent at an unnatural angle.

Sh*t.

He dragged himself away from the vehicle, which had started to burn.  It killed him to leave the cheetah in there, but he had no choice.  He got as far away from the jeep as he could, and took out his satellite phone.

It was smashed.

F*CK.

This meant that he was alone.  Completely, utterly, totally alone.  He checked the magazine in his gun.  Four round left.  Oh, sh*t.

Suddenly, the grasslands didn’t seem so beautiful anymore.

He could see the sun setting, and with it came a lot of sounds.  Cicadas chirping, wild hogs grunting, the wind whistling.

And then he heard the sound he feared the most.

It was a wild, untamed yelping.  Yaps, howls and barks came together, signalling that it wasn’t just one animal.  It never was.  They howled, coming ever closer.  The pack would savage anything that was even slightly hurt.  But what scared him the most was their howl.  It sounded like they were laughing at him.

He shivered.

You’re Coming With Me

What’re you staring at? Yeah, I’m talking to you, brown boy. What the f*ck are you looking at? I seem funny to you? Come down here and I’ll bust your face…we’ll see how funny I am then, eh? How about that?

There, that shut you up, didn’t it?

What? I don’t see nothing in your damn cue cards, Doc. We’ve been having this session everyday for the last, what, four years? And I’ve told you that I can’t see anything.

No, I’m not going to give it a shot. No. NO.

I said, no, Doc. Get out of my face before I kick your teeth in.  What was that?  I’ll land myself in trouble?  I’m in the block, D.  I’m in the block for killing someone.  How much more trouble can I land myself in?

How many times are they going to put me in jail?

Don’t they know that the only prison is the prison of the mind, Doc?  As long as I’m free up here, they can put me in any prison they want, and it won’t make no never mind.  Hell, they can tie me up and strap me to my cot too.

Won’t do sh*t.

If I do it this one time, will you promise to leave me alone?  I answer your questions, I look at your damn cards, I do it this one time…then you walk out of the door and never come back.  Deal?

Fine.  Gimme the cards, Doc.

Hmmm…this one’s interesting.  I see my family, Doc.  My Ma and Pa, Trevor, the whole bunch.  We’re at a picnic.  Yeah, I’m there too.  The sun is out, Doc.  We’re sitting at a picnic table and drinking lemonade.

Yeah, I got that from the ink blot.  You got a f*cking problem?

Keep going.

Hitler.  This one has Hitler in it.  He’s standing there and raising his arm, funny little guy.  Weird-ass moustache, uniform and all.  A funny, short, great man.

Next.

That damn nigger.  I can see him as clear as day…well, as clear as night, in this case.  He tried to sneak up on me, the little b*tch.  He was loaded, so he thought he was mighty tough.  Well, I was too…and I let him have it.  Three shots in the chest, and two in the head.  That showed him, eh?  That was cool, wasn’t it, Doc?  Wasn’t it?

No, no, wait.  I want to look at this one some more.  No?

Screw it.

Next.

That little Spic and his gang that tried to screw me in the prison.  I was loaded in here too…a nine inch screw that I sharpened down to a point myself.  Oh, she was a real beauty.  F*ckers tried to come up behind me in the supply room.  I turned around, and that was the last thing three of them saw.

Should I go on?

I got three of them in the eye…and the leader in the gut.  The others ran, but I managed to catch one.  I put that spike in his back four times…none of them enough to kill, but enough to make sure that he doesn’t have a pain-free day the rest of his life.

Yeah, that was a good afternoon.  Productive, even.

Next.

Oh, this one’s the best.  I see you, Doc.  Yeah, you.  I see you, and me, and something else.  It’s not really clear…looks like something small.  Ah, now I see it.

It’s the spike.

And it’s at your throat.

You’re getting me out of here, D.  No two ways about it.  This spike’s gonna stay right at your throat till I’m free.

I’m sick of this hole, Doc.  I’m getting out or I’m going to die trying.

Either way, you’re coming with me.

The Smell

I’ll never forget that day.  Even if I want to, I can’t.  But the funny thing is, I don’t want to forget what happened.  I want to remember…I want to feel the pain.

Because if I don’t, I’ll lose myself completely.

I ran home from school that day, because my mom had promised me chocolate chip cookies.  I knew that those were worth running for.  I turned the bend, and ran full tilt towards my house.  As I neared the house, I tilted my head back and took a deep breath.  I wanted to take in that glorious, chocolaty smell.  And take it in, I did.

But I smelled something else along with it.

At first, I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.  But then, as I got even closer to the house and the smell became stronger, it hit me.

It was the smell of my knee after I fell off my bicycle and scraped it.

It was the smell of my lip after Jimmy, the school bully, had punched me in the face.

It was the smell of my finger after I’d accidentally cut myself with a kitchen knife.

It was the smell of blood.

It hung there, over my house, like the stench of a thousand corpses.  And it scared the hell out of me.  I thought something terrible had happened.  I thought my mum and dad were in trouble.

At least I was half right.

I ran even faster, all thoughts of cookies pushed out of my mind.  I burst in through the front door, calling out for my mother and father.  I was retching at the smell in my house, my eyes were watering and my mind was racing.  What was going on?  What had happened?  What would I do if there was a stranger in my house and he had done something to my parents?

Little did I know that the truth was much, much worse.

I walked into the kitchen, and was greeted by the most horrifying sight that I had ever seen.  There was blood everywhere.  It was splattered on the walls, on the kitchen counter, on the toaster, on the cabinets.  It was everywhere.

It was my mother’s.

She was lying on the floor, barely conscious.  She was whimpering, and that sound nearly drove me crazy.  My mama, the woman who had given me life, was lying on the floor, crying out in pain, anguish and fear.

There was a man standing over her.  He had a meat mallet in his hand, and it was stained with my mother’s blood.  He was panting, and growling.  Growling, like a savage animal.  An animal who was thirsty for blood.

He was my father.

I would never have imagined that he would do something like this.  Sure, he HAD hit my mother a couple of times, but he seemed so sorry about it.  He went for therapy and everything.  Then why was he doing this?

He turned around, and smiled at me.  That really scared me.  This was what he was doing, and he’s still smiling at me?

“Dad, what’re you doing?  Why’re you doing that to Mom?”

“Shove off, kid.  You’ll catch it too if you don’t…”

“No, Dad, stop it.  Please, just stop it…”

I walked towards him, and took hold of his arm.  He shook me off, and turned back towards my mother.  He hit her again, and she cried out.

I ran towards him, and jumped on his back.  He ran backwards, and pinned me between the wall and himself.  He then whipped his head back, smashing his skull into my nose and mouth.  I felt my nose break.  I felt two of my teeth break, and fall into my mouth.  I felt warm blood wash over my chin, and down my throat.

There was that smell again.

He shook me off, and I slid to the floor.  He walked towards my mother again, and raised his arm.

“Bitch…”

I looked around wildly, and found the knife block.  I snatched the butcher’s knife out of it, and ran towards him.  I didn’t hesitate, I didn’t falter.

I cut him straight through the scalp.

It was clear that he was finished when I cut him the first time, but I couldn’t stop.  Somehow, my young mind told me that if I did it over and over, my mother would feel better.

So I kept cutting him.

I stabbed him over and over and over with that knife, until his face was unrecognizable.  I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t think.  All I could see was my mother’s broken body.

Finally, when my arm wouldn’t lift into the air anymore, I dropped the knife.  I crawled towards my mother, and she feebly lifted her arms.  I crawled into them, and she held me.  She held me, and kissed my head.  We both began to cry.

But it was over.  We were both safe.

There, on that bloodstained marble floor, inches from my father’s corpse, my mother and I felt safe.

A Pirate’s Life For Me

The world is getting smaller, the seas keep on shrinking,

The skies are getting darker, the sun above is winking,

The law is catching up, you reap what you sow,

In this world of order, where’s a pirate to go?

The song has been sung, the line has been cast,

You keep moving along, because the present is soon past,

The bullets are flying, your chances look slim…

It’s a new age, and your future’s looking grim.

The ones you have seen, the ones you have left,

The life that you lead, all care bereft,

The things and ones that you hold so dear…

You might soon be weeping, their end is quite clear.

But there’s hope yet, don’t give up the fight…

You battle the wrong, because you know it’s not right…

A ship, a friend, some rum’s enough, you see…

Because, ye maties, by and by, a pirate’s life for me.

The Hands That Built America

There was so much smoke. He looked around, and all he could see was the smoke.  He coughed, and doubled over.  He gathered up the saliva in his mouth, and spat thickly.  Yeah, that felt better.

He adjusted his helmet and moved forward.  It would be a while before backup got there, but he couldn’t wait that long.  He had to do something, and he had to do it NOW.  His duty was to protect and to serve, and that was exactly what he was going to do.  He opened the glass doors, and slowly made his way inside the building.  Everything seemed to be burning hot, everything seemed to be covered with dust.

It was a scene straight out of hell.

The elevators wouldn’t work, so he started running up the stairs.  There were panicking people running past him.  He was yelling at all of them.  “Is anybody stuck up there?  Are any of you injured?  Keep moving, keep moving, KEEP MOVING!!!”  On the third floor, he heard movement.

“Hello?  Can you hear me?  If you can, move towards the sound of my voice!  I’ll get you out!  COME TO ME!”

More movement.  Yes, they heard him.  He could just make them out now.  He moved towards them, and asked the man at the head of the group, “Injuries?”

“Yeah, this woman can’t walk.  Please help us…”

He gathered up the woman in his beefy arms, and carried her down the stairs.  He could already feel the fatigue in his arms, but he wouldn’t be resting for a long, long time.

Not while other people needed him.

He led them out of the front door, and ran back into the building.  This time, he made it up to the seventh floor before he heard any movement.

“HELP!”

He ran towards it, his aching legs begging him to stop.  He reached a door, and leaned towards it.  He could hear sounds from the other side of the door.

He could smell fire as well.

He kicked the door down, and ran inside.  It was terrible.  A man was sprawled across a desk, his right leg missing from the waist down.  Another man, the one who was crying for help, was taking gasping breaths at a window.  His back was terribly scorched.  But the worst was yet to come.

A woman was lying on the ground.  Something, probably a window, had exploded into her face, obliterating most of her features.  Her eyes, her nose, one ear and most of her scalp was gone.

He leaned towards her and held her hand.  Inexplicably, she smiled.  He didn’t know how she did it, but the lopsided gash that was once her mouth widened into a horrible, yet strangely beautiful smile.

It was almost as if she knew he would save her.

He carried her and one of the men out of the building, leading the third man.  With no pause, he turned around and ran back in.

On the fourteenth floor, he found a little girl.  Her breathing was shallow, her skin was ashen and she looked dead.  He considered it for less than a second, then ripped his mask off and placed it over her mouth and nose.  Immediately, the stinging smoke began to rush into his nostrils.  He picked her up and ran towards the stairs.

It was torture.  Every laborious breath he took sent more smoke into his lungs, where they turned into gaseous fire.  It was as if someone was sticking a hundred knives into his chest.  Every step he took spread red flashes across his vision.

He was walking straight down the highway to hell.

But suddenly, he could see the exit.  That rectangle of light, shining like a beacon.  He would make it.  He would save the little girl.

He ran out of the door and handed the girl over the girl over to a bystander.  Without another thought, he turned and ran back in again.

But this time, he barely made it fifty feet.

A burning beam fell on him, pinning him to the floor.  He could feel his skin burning off, he could smell his flesh sizzling.  But he clamped his eyes shut, determined not to let his last moments be dominated by death and destruction.

Instead, he thought of his mother.  He thought of her loving embrace, her chocolate chip cookies, her caring fussiness, her amazing strength.

He thought of his wife.  He thought of her beauty, her unstinting support, her wonderful flower bed, her fragrance.

He thought of his friends.  He thought of their laughter, their beer nights, their road trips, their brotherly love.

He thought of the little girl.  He imagined what she would grow up to be, how pretty she would be.

He smiled a peaceful smile, and closed his eyes.

He had done his duty.

“It’s early fall, there’s a cloud on the New York skyline,

Innocence, dragged across a yellow line.

These are the hands that built America,

These are the hands that built America.”

-’The Hands That Built America’, U2.

Painted…

A lump, a tiny little lump,

The nightmare began,

Little did they know,

That the innocuous bump would lead them here.

Examine, examine, examine,

That’s all they seemed to do,

Final verdict, never different,

Final result, tears.

Papa, Mama, Sam and Zoe,

All there, all the time,

Willing her on, helping her cope,

Making her keep fighting.

Bleeding shades of pink and white,

Stumbling to the bathroom,

Coughing, wheezing, crumpling,

Wasting, wasting away.

Soaking up the rays,

Albeit, a different kind,

Washing her hair, looking around,

Finding strands by the hundreds.

Soon, wheelchairs,

Catheters, incontinence,

Bedridden, she felt like chaff,

Chaff, that the wind might blow away.

The pain was unending,

The grief, occasional,

The agony, a visitor,

It was life with your skin on fire.

Soon, a shell,

A pale imitation of her,

A mannequin, with the life painted on,

A tragic comedy.

Still, she fought,

She worried, she cried,

She prayed, she forged on,

She would not give up.

Then, one morning,

With Mama, Papa, Sam and Zoe,

The painted colours melted away,

Leaving the mannequin, bare and cold.

They dressed and tressed,

They cried and howled,

But their fighter, in a distant place,

Had been painted again.

Spot Me A Cig?

Could you spot me a cigarette?  And a twenty to go along with it?

No?

How about just a cig?  Come on, you’ve got a whole pack.  Oh, I know.  I’m grubby and smelly, yes.  You would be too if you hadn’t showered in four days.  No, scratch that.  Five.  Maybe it’s six…but how does that matter?  It’s not like I’m asking you to share the smoke with me…

They’re menthols?  They’ll do what…?  Affect my sperm count?  What difference does that make?  Can you think of one woman who’d let me near her?  Can you?

No, seriously.  I haven’t gotten any for a long time…

What was that?  When was the last time?  I’ll have you know that I used to be a very eligible bachelor once…I was a businessman, you know.  A big one, at that.  Well, maybe not so big.  Medium, more like.  But I was rich.  Rich enough to afford clubs three times a week, power lunches everyday, a high class gym and a great apartment.

No, really.  Ask around if you want…my name?  Well…ummmm…well, it’s…never mind what my name is.  What’s your name?

Hmmmm…interesting.  What does it mean?  Can I have that smoke now?  Yeah, it’ll kill me, but who wants to live forever anyway?  How’d I start smoking?  Interesting story…

In one of my movies, I was playing the role of a chain smoker, and that got me hooked.  I just couldn’t stop after that…what do you mean, what I mean by movies?  An actor works in films, doesn’t he?  So what’s so unnatural about me being in a film?  I was one hell of a method actor, I’ll have you know…learned from the best.  You name the emotion, I’d feel it.

Go on, test me.  Give me an emotion…rage?  Well, hmmmmm….arrrrghhhh!  I’d tear my shirt, but I’ve got only one.  Good enough?

My, my, mighty curious, aren’t we?  I live here and there, wherever I want to.  The street is my home, the rock is my pillow….

But there were better places to rest my head, you know?  There was a time when I could pick which city I wanted to live in…the metros were all covered, and so were some of my favourite holiday destinations.  Yeah, being an event manager with the biggest company in the country has it’s perks.  Oh I remember our parties…the alcohol was cold and the girls were hot.  Look at me getting all sentimental now…

What’s that?  Cigarette, yes.  I had asked you for one.  Many thanks…

Another thing…could you tell me where I am?