Once again I have looked to The Guardian's poetry workshop for inspiration. John Hartley Williams' warped proverb exercise is what I'm using for poem four. Beat your mother while she's young, is a warped version of, Spare the rod, spoil the child. To further aide in writing a warped proverb poem, Hartley instructs to incorporate seven of the ten words provided and "allow your unconscious free play with the associations the words suggest", (I've included two of my own words to Williams' list):
home
silence
fashion
ghost
pool
dance
disturb
knife
croak
shimmer.
I finally decided on this proverb to warp from the list below.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
Let the dead bury the dead
Speak softly and carry a big stick
Revenge is a dish best served cold
The husband is always the last to know
Old soldiers never die, they just fade away
Youth is wasted on the young
Don't Waste Your Time Telling My Husband, He's Busy
Danna
We live in a small town, population 2,177.
The choices around here aren't that great,
So I make do with what's available,
Bloom where you're planted, and all that.
Hank, the mechanic who keeps my truck up
And running, snow or shine, was first.
He lives back of the gas station
In a trailer, the size of my old office.
It goes without saying he wears worn cowboy
Boots and his Wrangler's tight.
His large oil-stained hands have a kind of appeal.
We moved to this defunct Montana mining town
So my husband could do good to all the unfortunate,
And downtrodden. He's something of a celebrity around here,
like Robin Hood, except no swashbuckle or bravado,
and he would never steal. He's always trying
to get the rich to give to the poor. Trouble is,
there aren't any rich. The upside,
is that there are thirteen bars, three cafes, two churches,
one gas station, and no stoplight or stop sign
on the town's one paved road. This town used to be hopping
around one hundred years ago. Hemingway mentioned
It in "The Sun Also Rises".
Robert, a.k.a Mick, because he's Irish,
Was second. He has wavy black hair and
Owns The Sunrise Bar.
He's also the bartender. That's how we met.
His brother bar tends across the street
At the Sunset Bar, but I digress.
Mick's a recovering alcoholic. He's been sober
For five months, and he's always going on about God
And the twelve steps. It makes it difficult
To drink around him, so I started spending a lot
Of time at his brother's bar. Mick drives fifty-five
Miles into The City every morning
For his AA meetings. Sometimes I go in with him.
Sometimes we get a room and it's a nice change,
Especially since his dog sheds like a mother.
Mick says he'll sell the bar, if the economy ever picks up.
He likes to go out line dancing and he articulates
His pelvis just like Elvis Presley in Jailhouse Rock.
There's not a lot to do around here. So, I drink.
Mostly whiskey and Coke, but some days I mix
It up and order gin and tonics. Sometimes
I get a little crazy and drink cosmos until
It's time to go home and get a little dinner
Cooking. Walk on the wild side, and all that.
Sometimes I hop in the truck and ride around
Looking for moose or bears.
I used to work in publishing, had my own
Office and assistant, and could get
A skinny double shot soy latte any time
Of the day, any day of the week.
Gibbs was third. He's Mick's brother. Yeah, I know,
I know. I felt a little guilty in the beginning,
but Eat, Drink, and be Merry, and all that.
He likes to fish. Every Wednesday, I bring a can of corn
and a can opener, and he'll grab a bottle of Captain Morgan,
And we'll slip out the back of his bar and head straight
For the river. Those fish really go for corn.
Mick found out about Gibbs and me and it
Caused a big problem. Mick threatened to tell my husband,
And I told him to go right ahead. A bluff. He didn't
But I sweated it for a while, cut down on my alcohol
Consumption and made special dinners. Mick
And Gibbs didn't speak for a long time.
I found a new bar.
My husband's main focus in life is figuring out
A way to spur economic development and get this town up
and rolling. I think he and this town should just resign
Themselves to reality. Every night he's at the kitchen
Table with spread sheets, current issues of finance
Journals, and old newspaper articles from the town's heyday,
spread out in a fan. A lot of his clients
Come to the house for after hours consultations.
I make coffee, then go sit on the couch
In the living room and run my hands over the cushions.
I've decided maybe my problem
Is that I need a baby to fill my time.
I scanned pictures of me and my husband into a baby website
That uses FBI face detection technology to see what our baby
Would look like. Not so good. I also scanned in Hank, Mick,
And Gibbs. Hank won, hands down.
David cuts the little patch of grass that surrounds
My house like a moat. He's twenty-three. He is my fourth.
Even though I'm only eight years older than him, I feel
A little like Mrs. Robinson. David was studying to be a marine
Biologist, but his dad got sick so he had to move home
To take care of him. He likes motorcycles and always
Wants to take me for a ride. I told him it's too public,
He understands that. About once a month he drops in my new
Bar and we have a game of pool. He drives by at least once
A week when I'm out on the porch having a nightcap.
I wave. He waves. I cry a little then go to bed
And listen to my husband snore until I fall asleep.
My husband doesn't come home for lunch
Even though his office is less than a block away,
Although, technically, this town doesn't have blocks.
I tried taking him a sandwich a few times,
But his office was always jammed with clients
Waiting to see him, so I gave it up.
I usually make David a sandwich and give
Him a cold beer or two. Then we retire
to the couch and do a little underwater exploring.
Co co ca choo, and all that.
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