DOVE IN THE GARDEN.

In the beginning was the Wah,
and it was the Wah,
and it was good.
And it begat the Diddy
which begat the Diddy Wah
which begat The Diddy Wah Ditty
And it was good. You could read
and dance to it at the same time.

And the Wah begat Joe and Jill.
And The Wah sayeth to them
“Mi Casa Es Su Casa and
Mi Garden Es Su Garden.
Stay as long as you like,
(try the peaches–they’re great)
It’s all rent-free and No Hidden Fees
But, if you choose to leave here
things will get hellish quick.
I guarantee you they will.
But it’s a free world
and I’ll love you kids anyway
no matter what stupidass
crap you get into.”

And Joe and Jill said unto The Wah:
“What’s The Catch?”

And so Joe and Jill left Wah’s Garden
with full bellies and big ideas.
They hopped onboard a dirigible and flew to Earth,
where they soon found themselves in Hellsborough, NJ
where they built a swell condo and opened a Gun Shop.

Next thing you know Joe and Jill had 5 sons:
Joo, Jess, Lammy, Bud & Dunno.

Joo went into banking with a sideline in Health Foods.

Jess became a hippie commune farmer.

Lammy pursued the Gun Trade, wove rugs and directed S & M films.

Bud became a cook and opened a chain of Wah’s Garden Franchise
Restaurants–eat in or take out.

Dunno invented Law and then voted himself King.
(he never did have much sense)

After all the boys were born, Joe and Jill had one daughter, Dove.
She was real pretty.

Being the only residents of Hellsborough, NJ,
which was the only town on earth, The Eweman family
(Eweman was Joe and Jill’s last name)
pretty much had to see a lot of each other.

And the boys, being boys, grew up and became Taller Boys
with hankerings for Some Loving.
And their sister Dove was the Only Game in town.
So they began their wooing of Dove.

Joo said “I got plenty money,
healthy food, will treat you like a queen,
but I’m the boss.”

Jess said “We won’t need money,
we’ll always eat well, I’ll never double cross you,
and did I mention I own a portable winery?
Oh, and I’m the boss. Gimme a kiss.”

Lammy said “You’re so beautiful
that I’ll wrap you in sheets, or else.
You’re so weak I’ll beat the weakness out of you.
You must scrub my floors to prove my love for you.
Oh, and I’m The Boss of all the other bosses,
Plus I have good hashish and you’ll star in my latest film
‘Pretty Lady In Dog Chains.’ ”

Bud said “None Of This Matters
But let’s Do It anyhow.
Does a Boss in the Wok hear one fist punching?
I’m the Boss, but what is a Boss but a Boss Of Nothing?”

Dunno said “I’ll make you First Lady
at least ’til you get old and ugly,
because I believe in Beauty.
And I’ve bribed all the other bosses–
Don’t listen to them–they’re nobodies.
Listen to me–I’m the Boss and have the
self-stamped badge to prove it, baby.”

Dove wasn’t all that thrilled by any of the boys’ sale pitches.

So she refused to marry any, but did date all of them, casually and
discretely. Each brother assumed he was the only apple of Dove’s eye. Many
bastards were born of these dates but everybody pretended not to notice.
Soon Hellsborough was not only the Only Town on Earth, it was the biggest.
Over 6 billion born and super-sizing daily.

Many moons passed. The original 5 sons of Joe and Jill were still around.
And they were pretty pissed, being by now plenty suspicious of each other
regarding Who Dove Loves, since there were a heck of a lot more people
floating around Hellsborough than their respective once-a-week Dove Love
Sessions could account for.

Each son was pretty dang sure that Dove mighta forgotten (or worse: never
understood to begin with) Who Was Boss. They began to tangle and bicker
amongst themselves.

Joo was tired of being beaten up so he built a big fence around his yard and
put up a sign: ‘Keep Out. Mess with me and you’ll be sorry.’ Then he
stocked-up on guns.

Jess said “Hey Joo, you and I are like brothers–oops, I mean we ARE
brothers–and what’s a little Dove-swapping among brothers? If anybody
messes with you they’re messing with me. Need any guns? I bought a bunch
from Lammy.”

Lammy said “Anybody not me is evil and must die, especially Joo and Jesse.
My guns are bigger than your guns plus I bought a buncha Guided Stones from
a Korean guy who Bud knows. Prepare to kiss my ass, losers.”

Bud said “Leave me the heck out of this, I’m opening 25 more Wah’s Garden
franchises this week. Each one has 250 Atomic Stun Guns mounted on its roof,
just in case of any trouble. I got enough on my mind. Plus all of you have
unpaid tabs. Pay up or I’ll foreclose on your houses, with one hand
clapping.”

Dunno said “I’m with all of you guys, you shifty-eyed backstabbers and
esteemed allies. I just wrote a new law that says you gotta do what I say OR
ELSE. Kiss my ass. Say, anybody wanna buy more guns?”

Pretty soon all five brothers got drunk and began shooting up Hellsborough.
The grocery store burnt down so food became scarce. The creekwater went foul
so people went thirsty. It was Non Stop No Fun. It was a real riot.

Dove was so tired of all of her brother-boyfriends’ bullshit. All five of
them were only good for one thing and parallel parking ain’t all that
important anyhow. So she did the best thing she could think of. She
telephoned Wah. Sang him her ditty. Asked if he could help out, stop all the
ruckus.

Wah was no dummy. He passed along Dove’s appeal to Mrs. Wah. Mrs. Wah passed
along Dove’s appeal to her mother-in-law, Wah’s Ma, upon whose kitchen wall
hung a cross-stitched sampler that read ‘Home Sweet Home’.

Wah’s Ma knew what to do. Though the proof was hidden within the fine print
of thousands of mumbo-jumbo contracts and scrolls, Wah’s Ma, indeed, was the
actual, original & bona-fide Rightful Owner and Landlord of every atom on
Earth. It was Wah’s Ma who built the darn planet in the first place, at a
ceramics class she took at Lily Maes’ House Of Pottery.

Wah’s Ma got in her Ma Ship (accompanied by her staff–‘Gabriel Angelotti &
Sons, Inc, Odd Jobs, Established Day One’– who piloted her 144,000
economy-sized Celestial Escort craft) and flew to Earth, where she
double-parked in the skies above Hellsborough, which was now one bigass
5-Alarm fire, everybody hollering, shooting guns, and drinking Hi-Octane
Martinis, just because.

Wah’s Ma didn’t say anything to the folks below. No bullhorn from On High.
No decrees, ultimatums or pronouncements. She just opened the hatch on the
Ma Ships’s underside, revealing to all below Wah’s Ma’s favorite
problem-solving device: her Non Evil Eye.

It was just one large impossibly beautiful eye. It could only do two things.
It could look, and it could weep. And as the billion of troubled souls below
looked up at the Non Evil Eye, it wept. It wept one tear, but what a tear!

The tear gathered at the crease of The Eye, slowly let itself yield to
gravity, and then it fell. It fell slowly, like a feather. As it fell it
expanded until it filled the entire sky above Hellsborough. As it expanded
it turned into a torrent of rain, a rain so thick there was no gap between
drops. It looked like a huge ocean falliing from the sky, falling as slow as
a feather falls.

As it descended the people below responded in various ways.

Some bowed and prayed. Some shouted “It’s a trick, don’t look at it and it
will go away!” Others shouted ‘Bullshit’. Some hollered “Take me with you.”
Many took photos with their multi-purpose cell phones and sent them via
e-mail to their friends, along with messages like ‘LOL!!!’ and “wassup wid
this shit, homey?” Most acted as if nothing unusual was going on, and
proceeded to drive their Hummers to HelMart, where there was a swell ‘Final
Days! sale going on.

Some turned their weapons upwards and fired. The bullets and missiles
vaporized as soon as they hit the teardrop-that-was-now-a-

____________________________

TO FIND ELVIS YA GOTTA FIND GOD’S COUNTRY

to find elvis ya gotta find god’s country…..god’s country is 2-lane
highways with black & white signs identifying the state route,
the old national route, the county route and the local street name.

ya gotta find places where people work at hard labor jobs for a
living…where they understand the wonderful glamour of big hair and lotsa
make-up…where men wear bigass belt buckles under bigass beer bellies…where
there are diners with breakfast specials and a country music station can be
heard drifting from the kitchen at dawn along with the smell of home fries
and grits…where the churches have odd poetic names like “the solid rock
first-born church of the living god, sanctified”…..where there are large
indoor “farmer’s markets” often housed in old quonset-hut structures or
converted commercial poultry houses or old army barracks, wherein many small
merchants have little stalls and the smell of cold cuts and fried food
hovers….such places are often only open on weekends…where the sound of
screaming little kids, holding tight to the weary hands of a beleagured
19-year old mother with no man–that bastard took off–can be heard for the
sad and wonderful human music it is….where people are not so cut off from
their own souls that they can’t weep along with hank when he sings “i’m so
lonesome i could cry”….where if you tell someone you’ve bought a banjo
nobody rolls their eyes or says “hee haw” in sarcastic derision but instead
says “good for you” and “i’ve always right enjoyed the sound of a good banjo
myself”….where the only franchises to be found are mickey D’s, a wal-mart
and an amoco station….where there are Winn Dixie food markets and Dollar
General Stores…..where there are lots of bars and not one of them is named
“Ye Inn at Deacon’s Crossing”…..where bed and breakfasts are unknown but
“vacancy and free tv” motels painted flamingo pink are plentiful…..where
lots of people smoke tobacco because they can’t get morphine at the 7-11 at
3 am after their ex just called up drunk from illinois and made vague
threats…. where going to church is never a reason to think someone
unsophisticated and indeed where the concepts of sophistication or
unsophistication come to mind about as often as the importance of nouvelle
cuisine…..where black lace and nylon means saturday night bliss and sunday
morning regret…where  you might meet many women named Verna, Rachel
Louise, Hattie, Fern and Elvie…..and many men named Ibber, Orval, Harv and
Buddy Jr……where the 32nd-generation version of tommy james and the
shondells playing at the local nightclub is the biggest event in memory
although one of the local preachers plans a record-burning beforehand
outside the venue…where people talk slower and listen deeper….where
people call each other Darling regardless of age or gender…where dirty
words are serious business….where the mullet is king of Do’s….where
anybody can tell you where Orion is on a given evening….where grace is
said before dinner….where biscuits and gravy are the main course…where
the biggest house in town belongs to that prosperous federal official, the
postmaster….where, when you overhear a teenage girl imploring her grandma
to let her move to “the city,” she is referring to a town of 22,000 souls
thirteen miles away that you have never heard of.

find these places tangibly and you will find black velvet elvis and why he
mattered, deeply.

________________

NASCAR BIBLE CAMP

So junior was picking his boogers
and mommy got mad bout it and hollered
so daddy got mad and waved his fist
knocking over his beer cup
that made daddy madder so
he slapped junior
who fell off the bleachers
and all the people stood up to see
which got all the other people madder
cause they couldnt see the nascars no more
then we hadda go to first aid with junior
daddy felt bad so he bought us hot dogs
but his plastic money card didnt work
so mommy got mad and hollered
wheres all the money go you bastard
and daddy hollered you oughtta know
all them fancy things from wal mart bitch
then mommy started screaming
daddy said that’s it
but then the first aid man gave mommy a pill
and daddy said hows about one for me doc
then junior was all band aided okay
and we got in the car
then sister dropped her hot dog
daddy screamed this is new seat liners dammit you brats
then sister cried she hadda go to the bathroom
so we stopped at dairy queen
and mommy got everybody milk shake
and we got back in the car
it was a real pretty day
then the car in front was too slow
and hit the front of daddys bumper
daddy started screaming
mommy had a nosebleed from the glass
and daddy wanted to hit the old lady
whose car had hit us from driving too slow
until the cops came
they made daddy walk slow and breathe
into a bottle then gave daddy
a piece of paper and a warning
so we got back in the car
and daddy said those cop bastards
they almost as bad as you kids
then mommy started crying some more
and daddy said that’s it
no more nascar from now on
i’m going with the guys
and mommy said oh lord i hope so
i hadda go and marry you
i hope you and the damn guys get hit by a nascar
then daddy said oh we’ll see about that
then we kept driving in the car
and things got all quiet
except junior was crying
that was yesterday
and so far summer vacation has been nice
tomorrow i start bible camp
and junior hasta go back to the hospital
for tests even tho he aint in school yet
and daddys hollering money dont grow on trees
but anyhow tomorrow is bible camp.

________________________________

Author Biography

Jane Gilday was born in the northeast USA in the 1950s. Jane has lived in the Bucks County, PA area, since 1990, making a living through painting and her music. She is currently a member of the NYC-based band ‘Peter Stampfel’s Ether Frolic Mob.’ 

GO

my TV is in NJ
my RV is in PA
im in DC
we go to my RV?
he go to?
ya or no?
he is my EX
is he bi?
he is.
he is so bi
an,
he ax my ma
my ma go to ER
an, pa?
he in, HI
so, no
so, do WE go, or no?
ya.
to my RV!
do we go in?
if we do
we go at it
be in up in
ew
so, do, OM…
up go IQ
ya…
ha ha.

Author Biography

Wayne Miller works as a private chef for a family of five. He currently resides in Easton, Pennsylvania. When not producing art, taking photographs, cooking, or interwebbing for new discoveries, he can be found at work on his first novels, or on Facebook, his equivalent of sitting around the bar all day. His email is waynemodern@gmail.com.

Pin-ups

– on transportation

it was the worst and weirdest kind of trip
and I do mean trip
tripping
we were tripping
and we were
just a little bit too young
and a little bit too leggy & eager

but we were trying so hard

so we were tripping
and we were in a suburban shopping mall
behind it was a terrible woods
filled with litter and struggling trees

they had this desperate look
helpless and scraggly

our pupils were huge & we were drinking in this
weird landscape

oh to be so young
that young
that huge and so thirsty for everything

I was trying not to hate the woods
but I hated the woods
they were trying too hard
and it was too vulnerable
it made me ache
like the apocalypse

like fire might clean up that damn mess
like I would have to run from the woods
which would be so scary and weird

instead, we went inside this awful little mall
and tried to make sense of
being inside and being so wild inside

my god, we ended up in a movie theater
but only for a few minutes
it was too big
and so loud the sound was pinning us to our seats
we had to run from the noise

we ran laughing, leggy and breathless
into a record store where I bought the first album
I looked at
because I couldn’t stop staring at it

I was trying to hear David Bowie’s
crazy voice through the wrapper
but I kept falling into his uneven eyes
his crazy, painted face

he was from somewhere so far from
this weird mall
the noise
the struggling trees
and the leggy, tripping girl

who had to borrow five dollars
to take David Bowie home with her.

WE

Like A Plum

-on Beasts

My House Mother asked,
‘Do you eat the…will you eat the…’
and she sat there with the word in her mouth.

‘What? What is it?  Is it an animal?’
‘I don’t know. It lives in the mud.’
‘Is it a plant?’
She laughed, the word still inside her like a small plum.

‘I will show you.  Come, it is under the house.
It is in a bucket under the house.’
We bent under the stilts the house stood on.
A white plastic bucket stood in the shade.

And in it, something moving, many things moving.
She reached in & said the word.
It was a dry word, like a cough.
But the thing was wet & slippery,
long & knobbed at one end.
‘Do you eat THIS?’ laughed my House Mother.

She swung it hard against the lip of the bucket,
smashing it so it no longer moved.
‘No.  No, I don’t eat …’ and I said the word.

WE

Here is the Poem

-on lipstick

Here is the poem that has been staggering around in me all week.
I left weird, useless things in my old bag.
Change, crumbs, threads & wrappers.
An earring. A pewter charm.
Three wheat pennies taped to a receipt.

A cheap piece of candy melted through a corner
leaving a greasy smear with a red and chocolate center.

Zippered into a pocket, two lipsticks. Tobacco sticks to old lipstick like
lipstick sticks to the cigarettes I’m chain smoking.

Lipstick leaves a greasy smear on my sleeve as I swear away
tears & snot–swearing & grimacing.

If I were Sarah Bernhardt, I’d have to lie down just about now.
The text would suggest a subtext of such ennui, such sorrow.
The organist would weep with the telling. Her lipstick smeared
on the back of her hand hastily wiping tears so she can follow the notes.
Pipe out the story, larger than life.

WE

She Said

-transportation

She said, “I’ll be late.”
She said, “I’m sorry, my car
is a piece of shit.”

WE

Author Biography

Wendy Giles Ellis
Lancaster County, PA
Reader, writer, backyard muse & eccentric knitter.