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The girls left for Columbia, Tired looks on their faces. I turned out the lights, Put my head on the pillow. I heard breathing. The dazzler from the Maple Leaf Was hot on me In her thin-knit top. Her mouth was moving, “Stay in my music baby, “Stay in the music.” I could hardly breathe. I shifted with a rush of adrenalin— She slid off. All was still. No spirits to commune. No spirits.

Last week I got carried away with a squirrel. He was pillaging the bird feeder in broad daylight. I burst out of the screen door, got him with the first shot from my water gun and chased him up the oak tree. My heart was pounding. It was too much for a guy on the heavy end of the scale. I dragged myself inside, short of breath. A couple Xanax later, I had recovered. From now on, the birds would fight their own battles. A walk later that day set off another heartbeat of well over a 100. It’s a great system, tachycardia. The brain sees unusual heartbeats and says “Hey, you’re under stress,” which adds more stress and more beats. I turned around after a block. “You have an appointment with your internist on Friday,” my wife reminded me. “Butterfield? I was there last year.” “Butterfield has your number,” Nancy replied. “He’s keeping you alive so you can make the house payment.” “How come your heart rate is so great?” She answered, “I smoke.” I called my friend Steve and canceled our p

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.