Mockingbird’s Monolog

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I

In chaos, in despair, in weather fine and fair,
one run-on sentence

                i don’t know how come, how come

that goes nowhere or is a roundtrip, a door bell
ringing and no one home but

                rivulet, stutter-butter, flutter-mutter, of

I hope it lasts forever this waking.

                chip. chip. chip.

II

one run-on sentence a rivulet of stutter-butter-mutter-flutter with footnotes referencing, not the sources but still other catalogs, look-books my Mimi called them plopping us down for an hour of coverage while she groomed her Catholic swim-and-suntanned never-met-a-stranger body in high waisted slacks and an orange sequined sweater with short sleeves in Summer to take us to the mall to return a pair of satin house slippers that fit wrong, her hand in mine swimming like a salmon upstream) points in time and space collected and splatted and chipped, thrown around and let fall in a sequence that is curated with care for no one but the air.

III

going once, going twice, three times, gone! [sound of stand-up bass striking a pizzicato G three times] [siren] [muttering irritations about slow traffic light] Baa… Ba… Ba… “Oh I want one of these, where did you find it? I’ve looked—“ SLAM—“Happy Birthday to you and you and you —can you say AH for me?—[sound of distant waterfall] -screech of brakes—RIBBET, RIBBET, RIBBET, RIBBET…um… RIBBET!…”easy-open! easy open! easy open!! easy!!!” [doorbell ringing over and over and over] Hello? Hellooo? Anyone home?”-[sound of waterfall, closer now. It goes for a while then fades into chip, chip, chip.]

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