Fishgold's Open Salon Blog

Wise Assed Woman

Fri, 9 Dec 2011 20:12:22 -0500

There’s the man who wooed and married you

He neglected to mention that he already had a wife

There’s the former spouse

You called him when you had a flat in the rain

He told you to call triple A

The man who couldn’t

The man who wouldn’t

It took until age forty

To master saying no to the man with whom you shouldn’t

But now you are a wise assed woman

Husband number one left you with a son to raise

Husband number two said gracias for the green card

Husband number three

You married him twice

The first time he crushed your heart in a vice

The second time he went dancing with your best friend

She got the diamond ring he promised you

All those years

That’s how you became a wise assed woman

All those years

Life slipped by

The clock ticked

Youth fell away

You look at the photo

You on the beach at twenty five

Effortlessly beautiful

Destined to be unloved

Look in the mirror at your posterior

Your derrière, your anterior

How over the years did it expand so

Fifty years will do that

That’s life my dear

You have grace

You have beauty

And now you have heft

Because you are a wise assed woman

No Fear

Sat, 3 Dec 2011 11:12:14 -0500

You stand in the path as the snow begins to fall

Fearless and alone

The most beautiful woman I have ever known

Skin the color of walnut

Breasts filled with pain

You look at me

And I see into your soul

But I turn to walk away now

I wanted you to call to me

Anything

Any thing

But you won’t

You would stand naked and cold

And you would not shiver

You would not ask for my warmth

Without turning I see you behind me

Dissolving, brown into the white snow

And I will cry an ocean

Mare Dolce, Mare Delores

Tonight I will be warm

I will be engulfed in the woman who talks poetry

Who sees beacons in the lights

Who walks ocelots on a leash

And then I can cry for you no more

All because you had no fear

Had no fear

She Only Loves Me For My Data

Sun, 13 Nov 2011 18:11:38 -0500

She looked hot. And I was bothered. She leaned against the wall of my cube like it was a lamp post. Oh, happy lamp post. She wore standard business attire, a suit with a skirt and a white blouse. It was what was under that suit. It was kryptonite. Strong enough stuff to bring a powerful man to his knees.

“Sweetheart,” she drawled. “I need the client suitability data.”

She did that little hip thrust when she said it, just sliding her hip a little to one side. It’s a move that says “I want you, and if the coast were clear I’d turn tigress all over you, right now.” Some women don’t know that they’re giving themselves away. Some women us the hip move like a weapon. I knew one woman that used it like a hypnotists watch; left…..right….left….right. I ran into her once in a bar. Somehow by two in the morning I was strutting around the place clucking like a chicken. I have no idea how that happened.

“Sure doll,” I said, “got it right here.”

I opened the spreadsheet. She looked pleased. Suddenly she grabbed me by my cheeks and said, “I love you,” in a sultry voice. She planted a big one on me, thrust her tongue inside. We were locked like that for a small eternity. I didn’t know I could hold my breath that long. I didn’t mind.

When she finally let me go she said, “Just kidding of course. Can you add the sales rep and region to that? I’m leaving early today.”

“Sure doll,” I said, “I’ll have that for you in an hour.”

“Thanks,” she said turning to leave abruptly. “I’m going downstairs for a smoke.”

Then she gave me a look over her shoulder.

“I’ll look for your spread…sheet.” she said, separating the two words in a meaningful way, before locomoting out of sight.

I don’t let a woman like that break my heart. She’s only in it for the data.

Man With Broom

Wed, 9 Nov 2011 23:11:48 -0500

Stage is bare except for two wooden library chairs. One is center stage left and one is center stage. They nearly face each other but are angled toward the audience.

Lights come up.

Her is seated casually in the chair stage left dressed fashionably in black.

Him is standing stage right facing away from her, chin in hand. He paces and gesticulates during the scene.

Him: I’m in such distress. This is so awful.

Her: Well, you’ll get over it. I won’t

Him: No, I don’t think I will. I loved you. I thought about you day and night. I don’t think I ever cared about anyone so much in my life.

Her: You didn’t love me. You loved some fantasy and you put it all on me. But it wasn’t me.

Him: You always say that. And I don’t know how to make you see that it isn’t true. You aren’t inside my head. How do you know that I didn’t love you?

Her: Was the woman you love a serial killer?

Him: Well…I didn’t think so.

Her: No, she wasn’t was she? I am a serial killer, therefore, bingo! I’m not the woman you loved. Sorry, she was a fantasy. I am not.

Him: I’m in such distress. This is so awful. And I’m so confused.

Pause

Him: So…why did you kill all these men?

Her: ALL THESE MEN! You don’t even know how many men I killed, other than the one body I was found with, and even that was circumstantial. It’s all speculation by the police.

Him: Circumstantial?

Her: The circumstance was that I was found with a dead body.

Him: Alone, in your kitchen, with no sign of forced entry.

Her: I admit that I killed him, but the evidence is weak. You have to admit.

Him: I don’t admit. For one thing there were parts of a few more bodies scattered about the house and garden. I don’t think they were sprinkled around by visitors. But you haven’t answered my question. Why?

Her: You know, I don’t know how to explain it, but they were just so cute. So cute I wanted to eat them.

Him: So you did? Oh, this is so distressing. How many?

Her: Oh…my… snakes. Do you think I would come all the way here to answer a question like that? Let the police figure it out. You can read about it in the news.

Him: My snakes?

Her: In my situation it’s best not to take the Lord’s name in vain.

Him: And what exactly is your situation? Have you met God?

Her: No, are you kidding? Do you know how many people there are here? You have to be Alexander the great or Einstein or something to meet God.

Him: What about Mother Theresa? Surely she’s met God.

Her: Honestly, I wouldn’t know. I don’t hang in those circles, though I’ve heard that God and Cleopatra are pretty tight.

Him: So then who do you hang with, Jeffery Dahmer?

Her: Why am I here? Because I can leave.

Him: Sorry. But really, who do you hang out with?

Her: Pretty much the same crowd as I did when I was alive. Only people aren’t nice to me. I spend a lot of time alone. It really sucks. Sometimes it’s like Junior High, only it never ends.

Him: That sounds like Hell

Her: Exactly.

Him: Oh, this is so distressing

Her: What, that I would wind up in Hell after developing my own recipe for rump roast? What did you think?

Him: But I love you. I care about you. I’m so confused.

Her: I’m not having this conversation. This is impossible.

Him: And you loved me.

Her: I did not. I never loved you. Did I ever tell you I loved you? I was always honest with you. I can’t help it if you were deluded.

Him: I think you did love me. I think you still do. You just can’t say it. You don’t have access to those feelings. But they’re there.

Her: I have news for you bud. Serial killers don’t have feelings. At least not the type you’re thinking of.

Him: But you were always so good to me, so kind, so affectionate.

Her: That’s because I like you. You’re sweet, and you’re smart, and you’re very cute.

Him: Oh God!

Her: But not cute in that way

Him: This is so distressing

Her: I never wanted to eat you, not in that way.

Him: We spent hours cuddled up on the couch watching TV. And then you would cook these fabulous meals for me, lasagna, and Greek style lamb, and those amazing stews and…Oh God!

Her: I never shared my special meals. Not even with you.

Both: This is so distressing

Her: Stop it. It takes a big effort for me to stay here and I’m getting tired of it already.

Him: Why were you so good to me?

Her: I told you this before. You…felt…reaaally good….inside of me. [pause] And you’re a good man. You really are. I like you. But I never loved you.

Him: How exactly did you die?

Her: A meat cleaver in the wrong hands is a very dangerous weapon. I had him laid out on the kitchen island. I really thought he was dead. I turned my back on him for just a few seconds. I was going to the counter to do some prep work. And he got me. It must have taken his last dying effort. But I kept that cleaver sharp and he went right through the rib cage and punctured a lung. He must have got some arteries or something as well. I started to cough blood immediately. It took me what seemed like an eternity to lose consciousness.

Him: You could have gotten some help.

Her: Right, and what was I going to do, call 911? Think about it. How was I going to explain the guy without his legs attached and one of them was in the oven at three fifty? I was so mad I wanted to kill the guy.

Him: Too late for that.

Her: No shit. So after a while I realized it was my time and that’s that.

Enter Man With Broom upper stage left and proceeds to cross the stage to where Him: is standing sweeping all the while.

Man With Broom: Excuse me.

Him: What?

Her quietly stands up and exits up stage

MWB: I need to sweep there.

Him steps aside

MWB: Don’t stand there.

Him: Why not?

MWB: I haven’t swept there yet

Him: Well then, where should I stand?

MWB: I don’t care. Just don’t stand where I need to sweep.

Him: Well I don’t know where you’ve swept.

MWB: That is not my problem. But you can’t stand there. You will have to move.

Him begins to pogo around.

Him: Can I stand here? What about here? How about over here?

Man With Broom sweeps to exit

MWB: No you can’t stand in any of those places. I need to sweep there. You will have to move.

Exit MWB stage right

Him looks around and realizes he is alone.

Him: This is so distressing.

Lights fade to black.

The Death of Lady Macbeth

Sat, 5 Nov 2011 13:11:54 -0400

The Death of Lady Macbeth

Enter Lady Macbeth with knife.

Location: Macbeth’s castle, the kitchen.

L. Macb. This chamber that reeks of unadorned death

Will never reek of mine. Here the fond goose

Feels the distance tween beak and tail lengthened

Across the bloody block, ere its quick life

Be shorten, e’en to a stop. My crime

Will be safe here; a companion to crimes

Upon a thousand dumb beasts and for which

No soul stands forfeit. None shall distinguish

My blood from other blood. I would not leave

Half digested memories as did those

Insatiable dogs that preceded me.

I would take God’s judgment straight on to Hell

Where three hags dwell. Curse midnight’s oracles,

Hell’s own stales, had they bespoken me and

Not Macbeth, I’d have ta’en a needle

Made them cackle like chickens though it burned

Their blackened maws to speak thus. Yet will I

Meet them and make them answer unto me

For felonies that they have incited;

Aye, and that I have incited,

And for that most foul felony which now

I commit. And in committing I would

Laughingly leap into the boiling kettle,

The cook, with black and obscene corruption,

So to amaze, that long would he puzzle

The bones of my soup. O’ That my fancy didst command my limbs. Macbeth, that didst ever

Lack the courage that so becomes the man,

Now walks unafraid though all England rise

Against him. And I, of my charms, have born

Objects of dreams that touch and hell shivers

Give unto me. By confusion’s vild reign,

Semblance carries this day no honesty

And every whorish thought attends me now,

Mocks me in idle fashion, then “noyance”

Cries. My lonely murther was but a thought,

And all thoughts hence have, in their sisters blood,

Been steeped. I couldst not kill the pale image

My mother. This is a laughing matter

Most marvell’s. But laughter illumines life,

And I have been to long i the darkness;

Light hath become corruption to me now.

Shadows are they that recruit this hand to

Execute midnight’s judgment. This carnal

Hand that threatens my tetchy heart makes bond

Of a ditch born bastards most cursed act;

For is not this heart the wretched mother

To this, hell’s crimson talon? O, to be

Done with it, to pass beyond the terror.

This is my villainy, that I do fright

Myself with specters of my dying when

By a movement of this, my hand, I could

Command the darkness down. Macbeth! I call

To thee. Come thou, king and night’s own harlot

Both. Like the well skilled stale, let my darkling

Thought be your deed. Murtherer, murther me!

O, my damnble puppet, why, thou doth

Not answer when I pull upon thy strings.

Courage! Courage! Courage! Idle servants

Of this sepulcher harmonize their chant

To the hard flung echoes formed of the squawks

And squeals of the blameless. Medea,

Who butchered all her pretty babes, knew no

Such slaughter. These stones and bloody pavers

Are witness to more foul murthers than my

Poisonous dreams. O dreams, o dreams, o foul,

Foul remembrances! In each nights repose

To walk with figures so black as to blot

Out all light, and anon I wake to long

For sleep’s recompense. O most cursed Dreams,

I do embrace you now and with this hand

Eclipse the sun. All my red ambition

Doth mingle with the drained out lives of fowls

And swine, Come night, thou cruel sister mine,

And swallow up the day.

She dies.

Enter two servants singing, with bottles

Back and side go bare, go bare,

Both foot and hand go cold;

But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,

Whether it be new or old

I cannot eat but little meat,

My stomach is not good;

But sure I think that I can drink

With him that wears a hood.

Though I go bare, take ye no care,

I am nothing a-cold;

I stuff my skin so full within

Of jolly good ale and old.

Back and side go bare, go bare, etc.

1. Serv. Whence came you upon this goodly wine?

2. Serv. Twas given me for safe keeping by Duncan’s serving men whom our noble king hath slain. They had it of the Lady of this very castle.

1. Serv. No! ‘Tis a tastier wine for the knowing. ‘Tis a tastier mystery as well

2. I say ‘tis best to know little and let fancy supply the rest. Nature is a drab. Ugly and mean is she. ‘Tis betwixt the head piece and the cod piece lies the source of all pleasure.

1. Serv. ‘Tis true and for my part the latter would do. Though methinks that peace of all sorts is t this castle as a beeve unto the tumbling billows.

2. Serv. Didst thou note Meggan and her beeves this day upon noon?

1. Serv. Though this wine weighs down my eye stops and blows a fog o’er my faculties, I would that I know no beeve named Meggan.

2. Serv. I prithee hear me. No beeve say I, but Meggan, our present embassy of Ardennes. She did bring two cows to slaughter upon command of our lord the king. But she would not enter the yard. Shrike, she did, “There is evil in this castle!” and ran she from here as if from demons. “Blood, blood!” she didst yowl as she didst run whilst her beasts stamped oafishly about at the gate that they might discover their end.

1. Serv. These villainous wenches are full to running over with strange thoughts. They believe much and know little.

2. Serv. Me thinks they know more than their animals

1. Serv. ‘Tis true. But the contest were enough to discourage a betting man.

2. Serv. What wench is it sleeps here, sprawled about like the vine upon which her blood did grow?

1. Serv. If I were not an honest man I might give her a touch to pleasure her dreams.

2. Serv. Me thinks she’d not mind the theft. She sleeps like a sepulchered wench.

1. Serv. Even so, I do fear my conscience. They say that to die in ones dream is never to wake.

2. Serv. Then let me die and at that instant cross eternities preserving border. For her sake, me thinks it is too late.

1. Serv. How so?

2. Serv. By the blood that trickles twixt the stones, me thinks the wench is dead beforehand.

1. Serv. Then ‘t would be too cold for comfort.

2. Serv. ‘T were better we were not found i this place. Illicit wine and murther make poor companions.

1. Serv. Let’s off to chambers and presently, for sleep would steal up and slay me where I would stand.

2. Serv. Thou art a fool. Here lies our accuser. Though we be innocent of her end, we will be suspect if she remain where our employment daily finds us.

1. Serv. Very well, though thou art mad. Where to?

2. Serv. To the garden

1. Serv. ‘Tis far. Me thinks the nearest shadowed closet would do.

2. Serv. ‘Tis the garden for her or the closet for us.

1. Serv. E’en as thou art a cur, so am I. I’ll aid thee with this bone.

Exuant omnes

[Cry within]