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I threw a tantrum at Starbucks today The barista put foam on my latte. I clearly ordered it without Written right on the cup. I told her she was stupid. “Fire her,” I told the manager. By the end of my tantrum She was sobbing in the backroom. The manager apologized and Personally made me a new drink To calm me down. I took it and accepted his apology. I must go back and beg her forgiveness, I haven’t had a shower in three days.

Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.—King James Bible, 1611, Matthew, 5:15.   Inasmuch as the recent events surrounding the Lady Arlene (if that indeed is her real name) are not widely known, I have attempted a rude and hasty account from marginal notes, eyewitness accounts and a late edition of the Creve Coeur Crier. The first indication of something amiss was a no-show for a four o'clock showing of The Favourite, a film illuminated by candles, for it seems that on the previous night, she had been resting under a canopy in her handsome, four poster bed after the day’s entertainments. The Crier did not state if she had drawn unknown persons to her baits or excited any passions, but as of late, she had been much taken by a new cleansing ritual, touted by a talk show host with Axis pretensions, utilizing a regimen of pulverized kale enemas (not recommended). When she wasn’t running to the b

The narrator is 3rd person omniscient. Bell, Book and Candle adds a whiff of spells, witchcraft, and romance from the recent and remote past. It means for Arlene to close her book and quench the candle to avoid the fire. Or make a spell to do the same. The Bible quote is used to introduce the candle, bell jar (candlestick) and box (bushel) and to set the stage for more Biblical references later. The fiery furnace reference is from the Bible and from Barton Fink 1991, a film she often mentioned. Bell is from the fire truck. The fire department is how we deal with Nebuchadnezzar's fiery furnace in the modern world. Bell, Book and Candle is the medieval spell to excommunicate Christians. It is used by modern witches to cast spells as in the Bell, Book and Candle play and film. Old and new language is mixed. The florid and formal with low register and the intimate. The formal language creates absurdity in a new colloquial setting of mistakes and an ambivalence toward Arlene. 'Lady&

I usually ignore my answering machine for hours, sometimes days, but when I heard, “It’s urgent,” I thought better. After all, it was kind of urgent the day she mentioned that her boyfriend of seven years had shot himself in the head.  This time it was two tickets at the Fox.  “Don’t you want to see Johnny Mathis?”  “No thanks.” “Come on,” she said. “I’m not in the mood.” “Please?” “Why did you wait to the last minute?” “Well . . . nobody else could go.” She needed someone to go with her since her brand-new car is, and always will be, asking for someone else to drive it. Of course, she’s blind in one eye and can’t see out of the other, especially when drinking. “Don’t you want to see Johnny again?” she said in her plaintive tone. “He is 80. I guess maybe I should before he doesn’t come back. I’ll drive.” “Do you have something really cute? A girl can never tell who she might run into when she’s downtown.” “Mm-hmm. Yeah, actually.” “We need to hurry. Be over at my house by

I cracked her door on a wintry day— Waist-high rotting piles Spread beyond all hope. We drove away with a crooked mouth Her eyes on me like a galliard tree Descanting Ulysses, Joyce and more. Read me sad poems, she softly said, Crystals, rings and virgin parchments I have seen all these. Late, I brought her home and She held me close with an opera she knew— Pratzel’s closes at two! She fell down dead Day after Christmas. I ate a bagel this morning.

Woman who lived, died a recluse will be mourned. By Bill McClellan ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH Sunday, Jan. 07 2007 "She is wearing rags and feathers from Salvation Army counters, and the sun pours down like honey on our lady of the harbor." — Leonard Cohen from "Suzanne" Most of Betty Wynn's bed was covered with trash, but there was a little corner in which she could lie down. That was all she needed. She was not concerned about the things that concern most people. On the day after Christmas, her brother, Sam Lachterman, got up first. He is 85 years old, six years younger than his sister. He has long white hair, an unkempt white beard. He has a doctorate in mathematics, and he never married. He has lived with his sister most of his life. He was in the kitchen when he heard her call out from the room that had once been a dining room. She was on the floor, which was, as always, hidden under mounds of trash. He almost stepped on her. Then she rolled over on her s

The brass came by, proclaiming their message of war. “When the NVA pounces, we’ll dump air and arty on him and wipe him out.”  Lt. Martinez, a veteran presence with four years in-country, didn’t share the line. Martinez was of a mind that you had to be a little smarter than to raise a baiting operation in the Dog’s Head. He spoke with amused vehemence as if he understood everything from the beginning. “Firebases are not a good place. No real cover, no room to maneuver, no chance to flank the other side.”  I didn’t think much of it at the time; my fear was an attack before Jay was hardened. After the last-light patrol sallied forth, it was time to wrap. Col. Hannas, who was not above taking point, was there to check the night readiness of the men. He eyed Thumper (my M79 grenade launcher): “Are you ready to go, son?” “Yes, sir.” “It’s damn hot.” “Yes, sir.” “Do you need anything?” “No, sir.” “Notice anything in the bush?” “No, sir.” “I like your attitude. Show me what you can do.” He p