Semantics Antics
It could extend to infirmityby Mari Werner
The man made a skeptical of himself.
He stood on the street corner screaming obesities
and raving about being inducted by aliens.
They arrested him for indigent exposure
and said he'd be persecuted
to the fullest extort of the law.
He said the charges were trumpeted up
and his crime was so small as to be negotiable.
The judge said he must be ill
and should get a doctor to perspire something.
"I don't understand," he said,
"Could you eliminate on that point."
"Never mind," said the judge,
"Just effeminate it from the record."
Eventually he was released
on his own reconnaissance.
He came to the contusion
that he should form an organization
and try to get convents,
so he wrote up a preposterous for the venture
and sent it to all his friends.© 2001 Mari Werner
What He Doesn't Know
by Mari WernerWhen I arrive home, the dog
rushes out to meet me,
thrashing his tail back and forth.
He puts his front paws
up on the gate
and stretches his head toward me
still thrashing the tail,
so eager to be
in my presence.He thinks the sun
rises and sets at my command,
and the stars in the sky
were placed there
according to my wishes.He doesn't know
I can't even pay my rent.
He doesn't know
I had to call the DWP yesterday
and beg a three-week extension
on my overdue electric bill.I wonder
is it dishonest of me
not to tell him.
Was he entitled
to a legal disclosure document?
If he knew,
would he apply for another human?He nuzzles my hand
as I come in the gate
and gets in my way
and steps on my feet.
And I decide to continue
the deception.
I don't think he cares....and besides,
what if he's right?© 2001 Mari Werner
Maria Gonzalez is mowing her lawn.
It's late in the afternoon
and all the gardeners that mow her neighbors’ lawns
have gone home.The mower buzzes and whines
as her thin arms push and pull it
around a tree.
Her thick black and gray hair hangs in messy curls
on the shoulders of her T-shirt,
and her jeans hang in loose folds
as if they were empty.
Back and forth across the lawn she plods.Maria Gonzalez is chopping up a tree stump
in her front yard.
Her small leathery hands grip the axe
and bring it down against the hard stump.
Small chips fly.
She reaches out and tugs at a root
and chops again.Her neighbor sees her and comes to help,
bringing his own axe.
“This is hard work,” he says.
“You can't do this alone.”“Thank you,” she says
in her thick Mexican accent,
her lined face crinkling
into a self-conscious smile.Together they attack the stump,
she in her methodical way,
he as if he's doing battle.
Slowly the mass of it begins to shrink,
but only a little.“Aren't you tired?” he says after a while,
wiping his brow with his forearm.
She shrugs and shakes her head,
and they go on chopping.“Don't your hands hurt?”
he asks her a little later.
“No,” she says. “It's okay.”“You'll never chop all this up,” he says finally.
“You need to get someone in with a chain saw.”
He has to stop, he tells her.
His hands are blistered.She smiles and thanks him for the help,
and he takes his axe and goes home.And Maria Gonzalez goes on
chopping up the tree stump in her front yard.
© 2001 Mari Werner
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Email: mariw@earthlink.net