bikeride fireflies
I am going to write a ballad. As soon as I can get through these piles of books on my bookshelf and find the stupid textbook that tells me all the rules of ballad writing. I do not trust the internet. Ehow just doesn't seem like a reliable source to me. So. I am going to write a ballad about the crazy life of the lady I work for and all her exhusbands and luckily, she was born and raised in the south so she has a perfect ballad name and I will call it The Ballad of Stacey Lyn. But I do not know the rules of a ballad.
So.
Today on the bike ride home from work it was late. I stayed late and ate free pizza. And listened to Stacey's crazy life story. On the bike ride home there were a lot of bugs out and I thought about the consequences of swallowing a firefly. I have decided that they are the cause of spontaneous combustion. I have solved the mystery.
Stacey married young once, and was not sure she ever loved him. He loved her and loved someone else who had clamidia. She married a harley man and when she moved to austin to follow her career, like he urged her to do, he would not come with. Waco on the weekends left the whole week long for mr. motorcycle to start an investment in meth. By the time Stacey found out, he was so far in that the Dallas mob would not let him out alive. When his car crashed, it did not seem like an accident. Then she met a man who she loved when she never thought she could love again. They were socialites. They were funny. They were electric. She was going to happy hour with her friends when she called to let him know. A woman answered the phone, asked "Who is this?" "This is his wife, who is this?" And then a man got on the line to tell Stacey that husband number 3 had just been arrested for bank robbery. "You have got the wrong guy." because he was the kind a stranger may have pointed to on the street, remembering the wrong face. "Well, I don't know how to tell you this, but you will have to get an attorney. We found him with the money and the gun, so we are pretty sure it is not the wrong guy." He is still serving his 78 years in prison. He was a carpenter. He had made her such beautiful furniture.
I want all of that to be a ballad. Somehow.
Also.
she walked up to him and kissed him hard. held a razorblade tucked in her lip quicker than a fish kiss she kissed him hard with her razorblade tongue. It felt like metal. It tasted like metal. It tasted like blood. she felt his body gasp, jerking magnet electric. she felt his tongue quiver. When she walked away he asked after her for a name she did not give him. nobody even saw the metal glint. nobody even saw the switchblade snap shut.
So.
Today on the bike ride home from work it was late. I stayed late and ate free pizza. And listened to Stacey's crazy life story. On the bike ride home there were a lot of bugs out and I thought about the consequences of swallowing a firefly. I have decided that they are the cause of spontaneous combustion. I have solved the mystery.
Stacey married young once, and was not sure she ever loved him. He loved her and loved someone else who had clamidia. She married a harley man and when she moved to austin to follow her career, like he urged her to do, he would not come with. Waco on the weekends left the whole week long for mr. motorcycle to start an investment in meth. By the time Stacey found out, he was so far in that the Dallas mob would not let him out alive. When his car crashed, it did not seem like an accident. Then she met a man who she loved when she never thought she could love again. They were socialites. They were funny. They were electric. She was going to happy hour with her friends when she called to let him know. A woman answered the phone, asked "Who is this?" "This is his wife, who is this?" And then a man got on the line to tell Stacey that husband number 3 had just been arrested for bank robbery. "You have got the wrong guy." because he was the kind a stranger may have pointed to on the street, remembering the wrong face. "Well, I don't know how to tell you this, but you will have to get an attorney. We found him with the money and the gun, so we are pretty sure it is not the wrong guy." He is still serving his 78 years in prison. He was a carpenter. He had made her such beautiful furniture.
I want all of that to be a ballad. Somehow.
Also.
she walked up to him and kissed him hard. held a razorblade tucked in her lip quicker than a fish kiss she kissed him hard with her razorblade tongue. It felt like metal. It tasted like metal. It tasted like blood. she felt his body gasp, jerking magnet electric. she felt his tongue quiver. When she walked away he asked after her for a name she did not give him. nobody even saw the metal glint. nobody even saw the switchblade snap shut.
i think that sounds like a pretty sweet ballad. the best part being her bank robber husband who was a carpenter and made her beautiful furniture.
ReplyDeletei have a beautiful song to send you. it's from josh ritter's new album. matt shared it with me. it's amazing. and about mummies. or rather, just one mummy.