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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #10

I bought it

By waking up at five am every day
Walking to work uphill in all kinds of weather

Both ways

By sweating bullets over my paperwork
Thereby ruining it and having to start all over

But they pay me to do all that

So I can settle my all american rear end into the supple leather seat
Twist the throttle on the Thunder Stroke 111 engine
Hurtling me down the road

The road that I own

Bought and paid for
With an all American chrome and steel

Indian Motorcycle

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #9

Twin coils vibrate the levered metal
Making the needle dance upon skin
Plunging in just the right depth into the dermis
Ink leaving a trail behind the mechanical mayhem
Tracing an old familiar form
First scripted one hundred twelve years ago
Now spreading steadily across my back
Whose muscles tense with the contact and pain
Needing it
Wanting to become one with the name
The same name that graces the compound curved tank on the motorcycle out in front of the tattoo parlor



My left hand is going numb
I try to flex it a little bit to relieve the tension
But am rewarded with unwanted jiggling of the viewscreen image
So I resolve to hold it still
No matter the pins and needles and cramping

Christ, I wish this thing would hurry up!

56, 57, 58, 59, 60.....
The automatic turning tool slowly turned the Pratt & Whitney engine
The blades of the Ninth stage compressor marching by the tip of my borescope
It's little white light a pinpoint in the darkness that is the interior of the jet engine

I just have to hold it still until we get up to one hundred twenty
At least that's what I tell myself
As I watch the blade tips in my viewscreen intently as they go by
Looking for any nicks or unwanted wear upon them

Everything looks great so far
The blades are clean with minimal erosion
It should make the customer happy to hear

118, 119, 120
The turning tool stops it's electric motor
The blades stop their marching by my view
I pause the recording
And my hand flexes in relief
Getting ready to pull the bore scope probe out of the access port

But I have to inform it that we aren't done yet
As I adjust my view with tiny movements of my fingers
And a judicious wiggle of the joystick
Which angles the end of the probe slightly upwards

Now we have to look at the blade roots
All of them
Only then can we say that we looked at the whole set of blades

I unpause the recording
Making sure the red dot starts flashing again
Then press the GO button on the turning tool
Which starts it's blade count all over again

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7......
At .35 Rotations Per Minute

My hand cusses at me
Because it knows it has to hold still for another three minutes
As my eyes take in all the sights on the screen
Looking for loose or missing blade locks
Nicks, erosion and etcetera

52, 53, 54, 55, 56.....
Anything that catches my eye

Monday, July 29, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #8

Who owns the ownerless roads these days?
Is it the government in their wise top heavy ways?
The Rotary club who picks up the trash on the shoulders?
Or is the drivers and riders who travel it each day?

A silly question with silly answers
Spiraling around my spinning head
A little dizzy from the centrifugal forces
And my cheeks starting to turn a bit red

I hang on tighter with my tiny paws
To the finely turned stainless spokes
I am the Indian Motorcycle Mouse
But you can call me Mr Krause


Sun shining upon me from above
Making freckles come out upon my skin
My long adolescent hair stirring in the wind
Sand playing in between my toes
Flicked off as I flick my digits together
Flying through the air
Going to who knows where

Surrounded by demolished and yet to be built sand castles
Light tan sand marked by periodic rocks of interesting composition and flavor
Small white shells and bits of lake washed wood
It's everything and anything about the texture
Each handful I pick up different from the last
As I clasp my hand around it letting it fall slowly from my grasp

Divoting down slightly in the middle
Pulled by an unstoppable force
Everything goes corkscrewing downwards
Through a glassy birthing canal to the future
Falling momentarily before finding a new footing
Upon a new beach
Covered in demolished and yet to be built sand castles
Tan sand, sea shells, lake washed wood and rocks of interesting composition and flavor

And me
My trimmed grey hair a shadow of it's adolescent past
Sun shining down warming my wrinkled saggy skin
Decorated with occasional sun spots
Larger versions of those past freckles

Sitting here at the bottom of the hourglass
Waiting for the sands of time to cover me up

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #7

The winter air of Spirit Lake bites Harold's lungs as he walks from the plant to his car

Nodding to the gate guard in his warm shack
The guard nods back
Not noticing the tensed muscles beneath Harold's heavy coat
Supporting the strap of the backpack he carried every day

Today, stuffed with the upper front fork assembly of a 2015 Indian Chief
Cast aside for a minor casting flaw that Harold will easily fix in his garage

Harold smiles starting to sing softly:
"I'll get it one piece a time......"

Thieves In The Woodpile

My bird feeder came up missing last week
And I didn't know what to think
Maybe bored kids on the prowl
Or some squirrels worked as a team for once

While I was hanging up the new one from the store
I thought I heard some tittering from the woodpile
But after standing and staring at it for a bit
There wasn't anything else of note
So I filled up the feeder with seed
And went on my way

The next morning the feeder was gone again
And this time the hanging pole was as well
Part of the deck railing had gone missing
The back shed was gutted and only a shell

It was a head scratcher for sure
As I'd been home all night long
I hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary
No people prints or tire marks
It was a mystery
And the police thought so too

After a fitful sleep that night
I awoke to an awful smell
As if a skunk were right in the room with me
And upon what do you suppose my opening eyes befell?

A mother skunk and her brood of little ones
Curled up in a pile of dirty clothes
Their path of entry not really a mystery
As one whole wall of my cabin had gone AWOL
Open to the outside like a perfect picture window
But one that let the outside in like a sieve

This time I called the State Police
Who came and filed a dutiful report
But had no thoughts as to what had happened at all
No evidence was left behind
No fingerprints
No person had been around

Right after they left I heard a rustling off where the woodpile used to be
Which wasn't there anymore either
I charged the brush ready to tackle a thief
But no one was there
Just a flickering image of a small animal as it slipped away

Even as the animal disappeared
An idea solidified in my head
I'd catch whomever was stealing everything out from under me

I went and found my rifle
I went and found my chair
An old wool blanket for my lap
And I set down facing the front of the house
There was no way anything would get stolen tonight

The sun slowly set upon my vantage point
As I slowly worked my way through a case of beer
With each sip resolving to do something more evil to the thief if I caught him
Until my eyes slowly crossed and I slumped in the chair
A casualty of my own consumption
Snoring to wake the dead

Until the morning sun tickled my throbbing brow
Causing me to vomit in greeting to the dawn
An empty view greeting my blurry opened eyes

No house
No deck
No shed

Just some churned dirt marked where I had made my home
And me in the last chair I had
A blanket
A gun

This pushed me over the edge I won't lie
So now determined not to lose anything else
I folded the blanket and put it on my shoulder
Slung the gun over the other
And picked up the chair to take with me
Carrying everything I still had on my back
I set out to find the culprits
Heading for where the woodpile used to be
The last place I'd heard anything unusual
Being the only lead I had

Brush blocked my mad search path
As I dragged my wooden chair along with me
Brambles scratched my face
Grabbing at my blanket until I had to tie the end of it to the chair
Leaving it to drag behind me like a two year old with his blankie

Until I heard it again
That same tittering I'd heard behind the woodpile on the first day
But more of it
Like a whole crowd of tittering and chatting

I dropped my chair and blankie
Unslung my rifle
And charged out of the brush into a clearing
Promptly dropping both my jaw and my gun

For there stood my house
And my deck
And my shed
With some woodpile mixed in for good measure
All in a confused pile
As if a builder had dropped acid then tried to build a house

And it was covered in raccoons
They were all tittering to one another
And chatting
Some were hissing
Others seemed to be cussing

None of them payed me any mind

Picking up my chair and blanket
I made my way into the Escher-like structure
Finding the living room
Which also had some of the bathroom and kitchen in it
But most importantly having the television

I perked up the rabbit ears and turned it on
Tuning in a baseball game from Houston
And sat down to watch
Along with a growing crowd of raccoons
Who all slowly gathered around me
All of us staring at the glowing cathode ray tube
Pixalated images moving upon it
Playing out their parts for our enjoyment

I tittered to the raccoon nearest to me
And he chatted back

That masked thief from my woodpile

Saturday, July 27, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #6

I can't identify the exhaust note
As I hear it approaching
Bouncing off the houses in the lane
I look up from my garden patch
Surrounded by piles of pulled weeds

It sounds sort of like an old wooden boat engine
A smaller one with a Graymarine four cylinder
Or a Model T automobile

I peer towards the bend in the road
Expecting an old car to pop out

Instead, a single headlight meets my eyes
An Indian Four pours it's music out a single chrome pipe
Soon just a memory rounding the next curve

Friday, July 26, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #5

Snow three feet thick
With a narrow footpath leading from house to workshop
A cherry red stove amidst the workbenches and toolboxes
Warming the very snowbound soul

Hoisted upon the bench
A freshly painted black frame sits clamped in blocks
A shiny new piece of hardware installed here and there
Parts neatly arranged around it awaiting a mechanic's hands

A deep black fuel tank on the corner table reflecting the December calendar on the wall in a funhouse reflection

Time enough before spring

Boeing Whale

The Boeing Whale waited patiently upon the loading ramp
Passengers climbing into the two narrow cabin pods upon either side of her main bulk
Bags and a few cargo containers loading into a belly sling below
The pilot sat atop the fwd area just in front of the blowholes
Bent down upon her belly
Arms outstretched
Murmuring to the giant beast
Stroking the shimmering black skin with her hands

With all the passengers and cargo secured
The feeders shoveled in a few more loads of food
The whale's mouth eagerly accepting the extra morsels
Making hungry eating whale sounds in response
The parking cradle straps creaking in protest
As she wiggled her bulk in anticipation of flight

The pilot sat up after a last friendly pat on the flanks of her whale
She picked up her helmet from beside her and slipped it on
Adjusting the seals
Checking the virtual readouts that sprang to life as the base of the helmet contacts mated with her suit computer

As a last preflight step
She turned in her seat
And picked up the end of the large tube that ran up the whale's left side
Leading down into the cargo area where the oxygen tanks lived
The upper end of the tube in her hands was molded to fit perfectly into the left hand blowhole
Which is where she inserts it
Twisting a little brass handle to make a bulge in the attachment just inside the hole
Securing it in place

The pilot keyed her mic button with her chin
"Tower, this is Boeing Whale six-seven-niner
Requesting clearance for takeoff and immediate ascension to flight level two-four"

Inside her helmet the speakers crackled in response almost unintelligibly
But hearing what she needed to hear
She signaled the ground crew to release the tethers
The whale quivering beneath her

Tethers off
Clearance given
The pilot grabbed ahold of the knobby ridges on top of the whale's head
Applying pressure here and there in a 'just so' manner

The Boeing Whale responded with a massive kick off with it's main fluke
Impacting the launch base and kicking off almost 100 feet into the air
Pilot and passengers were pushed back into their seats
As the whale produced a pulsing thrust with it's tail
Pectoral fins responding to pilot inputs and adding fine adjustment to their ascent

The setting sun glinted off the wet hide of the flying whale
The three foot tall "Boeing" tattoo glinting in the light
Passengers enjoying the view from their little round windows on their pods
The pilot's hands firmly in position on the whale
In complete sync with her whale
The matching "Boeing" tattoo on her neck catching the same sunlight as it shone through her helmet onto the side of her face

Reaching assigned flight level 24 in less than ten minutes
The mighty Boeing Whale set up for a two hour cruise at that altitude
Heading for the West Coast of America
Home for this particular whale and pilot
Both looking forward to a visit to the Sound
And some immersion time in the real salt water that was there

The right hand blowhole of the whale opened suddenly
Exhaling wetly into the thin air at 24,000 feet
Her breath instantly turning to ice crystals
Leaving an icy plume puff in the wake of her steadily swimming tail fluke

Heading into the setting sun
Heading home

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #4

Flowing composite with compound curves
A reminder of the skirted fenders in days of yore
The newest sub-orbital Indian Thundercloud pushed up through mach three with a factory test pilot at the controls

The flat American plains covered in minutes
Then Rocky Mountains and the West Coast
Soon a brilliant blue carpet of ocean laid out in forward view

Test Captain Smith pulls up the test checklist page on the computer
Making the shiny red craft dance upon the upper atmosphere

Who needs roads....

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #3

Fifty years is a long time to wait
But not too long for an original

Did the pope rush Michelangelo
As he created the Sistine ceiling?

Perhaps a little
But only because the world was eager to see the beauty
To begin it's love affair with something beautiful

Though as with all things that paint will turn to dust someday
Just as metal eventually corrodes away until it is just a memory

It's been fifty years since the last real Indian Motorcycle
It's time to begin another long love affair

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #2

Dark red skirted fenders
A screaming Indian chief out front clearing the way
Headlights stacked high
Turning night into day

Three inches of fire from stray internal combustion
Adorning my exhaust tips
Tiny flames upon horizontal candles as the speedometer is pegged
Eyes peeled front and rear wary of the CHiPs

111 cubic inches of Thunder Stroking manhood
Feeding staccato sound
Echoing off the canyon walls
A call for the tribe to gather round

To witness in delight
The owner of this road tonight

Earth -52.5 TVS1

Earth -52.5 seemingly hung in empty space
Blinking marker lights at even intervals around her spherical hull
Various ports, intakes and exhaust manifolds dotting the man-made planetoid
While deep inside
Reaction engines constantly converted matter to energy
To be routed to the intermittently firing course correction engines on the hull
Spewing invisible force
A constant push-pull-grab to maintain proper alignment with a phantom planet

Orbiting Earth -52.5
Thousands of small satellites buzzed about at different relative altitudes
Some in standard looking orbits of regular interval
Others in curious hunting seeking patterns
Seemingly random in their slight movements

Inside the fourth layer rotating hull of Earth -52.5
A control room was a constant buzz of activity
Something of a mish mash combination area
With all the attributes of a space ship's command bridge
With the addition of a audio video production studio
And a astronomical research laboratory thrown in for good measure

The command bridge worked with the astronomers and their equipment
Constantly updating and verifying their location and relative speed
While the A/V staff were collecting data that poured in from the satellites
Images of landscapes and cities
People and animals
Everyday activity
A comprehensive on-running documentary of a planet

But there was no apparent planet for all the satellites to be observing
Their sensors not focused upon the present at all

They peered into the past
52.5 years into the past to be exact
Providing overview of Earth's history in real time
Following individual people or events of interest as needed

This station, Earth -52.5
Was but one of many scattered in the wake of the real Earth
Which still occupied it's real time and place in space

With all of the Time Viewer Stations at specific places along the Earth's past path
Following an invisible orbit around an invisible Sol
Progressing slowly in real time
Maintaining a specified distance in the past path of their home-world

Signals from these stations beamed their signals via relativistically independent transmissions
The inventive discovery of Dr. Horace Wain almost three hundred years previous
To a waiting Earth Prime
That was always hungry for images, sound and data from her past

Though none newer than 52.5 years ago
Enforced by system treaty
For political reasons

Earth -52.5 maintained her relative position in the galactic disk
Mimicking Earth Prime through space
Upon it's delayed path
Full of a crew who has learned to live in that same past
As that is the only reality they are regularly presented with

Monday, July 22, 2013

Indian Motorcycle Entry #1

Muscled painted rusty steel
All the better to get the feel
Of the pebbles and the cracks in the pavement

Rolling 'neath my worn tires

With axle nuts held on by pliers
This ride is a tired bedraggled beast

When the falling down barn comes into view

The frame flexes that way as if it knew
That this was it's final resting place of peace

Into a rock walled corner

Smothered in a military grade tarp
This Indian now waits for younger hands and eyes

To own the road in their own time

Watery Orders

Peering into the darkness
Like serious sons of guns
Our bladders all the madder
For the volumes of water we'd not shunned

Guzzling our fill in the gaslight
Bellys swelling with fright
Stretchy sloshy balloons of water
On little legs squishing through the night

This forced march of hares
Raised the ire of Captain Ivan
Who slashed through red tape to review
The amount of our daily stipend

Finding it too small
He inflated us all
With voluminous amounts of water
The aforementioned stretchy sloshy balls marching the halls of our fathers

"Onward and onward!"
He cursed us in Russian so Russian it sounded like Klingon
Making our little legs move faster it's true
But our steps much shorter
For there is only so much we can do

Until the end was in sight and though there was much fright
Captain Ivan whipped us into a frenze frothy cream
Marching orders cut just so across our bellys like razors
Causing seepage and leakage in the extreme

Cascading down steep stairs
Into a rocky chasm in pairs
Went the double cannon column of water with us side by side
Making a wet waterslide across the divide

Drowning the cruel Captain underwater

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Endless Treat Feast

There is a place where the tall tales grow
They're fat in the sunshine
Skinny in the rain
Waiting to grow when the sun shines again

The dog treats were taller than me
In traditional shapes if not sizes
Towering over my head
Dog coming over before he even realizes

Dog's eyes got round as round plates upon the sea
Floating to China from whence they came
He approached with dog sized expectations
So was rewarded with much the same

Each oversized dog treat cracked open right at the middle
Vomiting out dozens of smaller versions of itself
Making for piles of just right sized treats for Dog
Who went frantically from pile to sampling pile simply beside himself

And so the giant dog treats marched
Slowly around the white picket fenced in yard just outside the property line
Puking up many more small sized treats than they had in realistic volume
Causing me to scratch my head in bewilderment
Looking from treat monstrosities to Dog and back once again
And only realizing when Dog stood upon hind legs and began reciting the digits of pi
That this was yet another version of a dream that I have now and then
And that the greatest of sins I could make right now would be to ask why

Dog ate impossible amounts and did not doggy burst his fur
I laughed and trimmed hedges in a clacking trimmer blur
The postman came up the walk and we all turned upon him our lips pulled back
Grr, grr, grr

Friday, July 19, 2013

Unrunning Refrigerator

I look inside you
And find you lukewarm and gross
Full of half opened things
Leftovers covered up and full of green mold

Your insides are not as they should be
Your compressor doesn't run
With the solenoids clicking
But no chilling
No freezing
No fun

The ice cream turned to soup
The meat into raw red mush
Grocery money thrown away
With you throwing a broken tantrum
As all fridges eventually must

Now you've been replaced
By a shiny new model
With bells and whistles galore
Though you don't know it yet
As you sit there full of spoilt gore

This time next week you'll be dragged away
By two handsome strapping men
Replaced by something that works
Never to see us again

What I'm saying is goodbye and good riddance
Though your only sin was years of constant service
With the inevitable breakdown at the end 
It's all the thanks you can expect in this too cold or too warm world

Thou foul cooling product
Whose very busted presence doth now offend

Wednesday, July 17, 2013


The days they get shorter
Long before they get colder
Shimmering in their summer glory
With red blurry orb rising
A little later each day in the East

The rabbits in their hutch
Hunker down in the furry heat
With three tins of water and food all around
Too many choices of what to eat

Puppies hide in the air conditioning
Along with their humans
Sprawled out on the furniture
Not even panting
Surrounded by artificial comfort
Brought on by electricity and heat exchange
Though certainly about the manner they could care less

Frogs and chipmunks scurry through the cracks
In the corners of the garage door
The second busy making winter nests where they shouldn't
The first hunkering in the corners flat upon the cool concrete floor

There is seemingly no end to these days
Though time keeps marching on
Marked by the numerous clocks all around
And the walk across the sky by the sweltering sun

Setting in the humid haze
Said sun colors outside the lines
With reds oranges and unnamed hues
Sliding further down the horizon
Chased along by the speckled blacks and blues

Forever for my kids
Just a blink in another year for me
The sand and heat will pass as usual
Followed by the leaves and winter blues
Until the cycle repeats again unending
Taking all of mother nature's cues

Monday, July 15, 2013

Burying The Poodle

I thought the Poodle was dead this morning
Laying on the big comfy chair
As has been his wont now that he is old and in the way

He didn't wake up and start sneezing for me to let him out with my alarm
Which is what he normally does
So I had to walk over and wake him up

I sat on the ottoman and put a hand on his side
I couldn't tell if he was breathing
He felt chilled
So I panicked and prodded him while saying his name
Thinking all the while that I'd have to call in sick to work
Over burying the Poodle today

His big poodle head shot up and he sneezed on me
Then looked at me oddly
Like I was crazy

But that's how he usually looks at me

He got up and walked his half shorn self to the door
All the while looking like a dog wearing tall fuzzy boots
Because that's what a poodle looks like when you only shave his top half

He gets little lumps on his body these days
His cataracts move around
Making for both high and low visibility days for him

Today seemed to be a good day
As he tore around the yard in a morning Poodle frenzy
No hint of age in his old bones

But the day will come all too soon when he won't wake up
No matter how much I prod him or call his name
As happens for all old Poodles

And on that day
I will call in sick to work

To bury him

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Four Trucks

Red truck
Brown truck
Blue truck
Rust truck

Over roads and up trails
Goes this procession of trucks
One filled with nails
The next with tiny snails
Another with billowy sails
The last with medium sized whales

Where could this line of vehicles be going?
I think you should follow and see
And soon it becomes clear
That the final destination is the sea

The red truck dumps it's nails
To put in the boards of the boat that needs mending
The Brown truck unfolds the sails
Hanging upon the mended mast until it is bending
The blue truck slides the many snails along to the rocks
While the rust truck deposits the whales in the water by the docks

Now red, brown, blue and rust trucks all sit in a line
Watching a white boat set sail
As snails frolick about
In the froth kicked up by a whale's tail
Sun slowly setting in it's own time

Saturday, July 13, 2013


I suspect a suspicion
And it might be nothing
Or I might not be crazy
And it's certainly something

This tinfoil hat
Just isn't getting reception
No matter how I bend it or twist it
It's not altering my perception

Dug deep into my bunker
Swimming in curds and whey
A morass of conspiracy
Surrounds me every day

I see plans within plans
A fractal mass of facts
All conspiring together
In many unpatriotic acts

I saw something
So I said something
And was labeled a crank for my trouble
So now I'm waiting for the poo to hit the fan
Before I call the Man to come on the double

Perhaps then it will be too late
But until that time does come
I have all my hallucinations and visions
To entertain me some

Along with a hand cramping collection of notes
In neatly numbered notebooks filled carefully with my many quotes
So even if I am unsuccessful at stopping the alien invasion
There will be records of all the where and when

If you come over don't forget the code
It's a simple saying of "Joe Sent Me"
Sung in harmony to track four of Abbey Road

I'm perfectly safe
As long as you've brought cake

Friday, July 12, 2013

ELS 15 Crowd Favorite Kiss

Charles’ feet drummed on the ring mat surface
Almost in the running motion of a toddler
But a lot more like a tantrum version of said child
Accompanied by yelling and screaming

Harvey The Nun let up on the arm bar pressure momentarily
His attention captured
Along with everyone else’s in the arena
By the redheaded woman in army fatigues that was climbing the ring cage fencing

Given motivation by the slight relaxing of Harvey’s grip
Charles rotated his body somewhat trying to squirm his way out of the hold
Which brought his line of sight onto the female intruder as well

Kazia Tamm had just swung a leg over the top of the cage fence when Charles realized who she was

Then several things happened all pretty much at once

Charles yelled Kazia’s name:  “Kazia!!!!”

Kazia paused to look at Charles
Her foot slipping off of it’s tenuous toehold in the mesh
Sending her headfirst towards the ring mat

Harvey decided to end the match right then and there
And reclenched his hold on Charles’s arm
Pulling with all of his Short Fat Man strength
Wrenching Charles’ shoulder out of joint

Charles’ slammed his hand down on the mat repeatedly
Tapping out of the match

The ring bell sounded four quick times
And the arena crowd erupted in cheers, boos, yells and catcalls
Deafening most everyone in the whole place

Harvey the Nun Stood and held his arms over his head
Turning in place center ring
Facing all the members of the crowd in turn
Shouting in triumph
His makeup a scare mask of smear

Charles crawled over to Kazia
And pulled himself up the cage fence using his good arm until he was standing
Until he could stare into her now upside down eyes

Kazia, for her part, hung upside down
Her pants around her calves holding her tightly in place
From where they had snagged on the sharp top of the cage fence mesh
Naked from the waist down in full view of the crowd
Who cheered and whistled their approval at the unexpectedly sexy sight of her freckled ass and pubic hair as red as the hair on her head

Charles cried at the sight of her
Tears running down his cheeks
While saying her name over and over

Kazia teared up as well
Hers collecting on her eyebrows before running up her forehead and disappearing into her hanging mass of red hair
“Kiss me, you crazy cross dressing bastard”

And everything disappeared
The thousand decibel crowd
The workers climbing a ladder to try to unhook Kazia’s pants
Harvey still posing triumphantly

It all went away
As red ring clad finger clinked against green ring clad finger
And their lips met for the for the first time in almost a year

Snapped in a flash from the local paper’s on site photographer
Appearing in the paper on the very next day
A black and white image of a fight weary cross dressed nun kissing an upside down woman in fatigues (with the nudity cropped out)

Kazia Tamm and Charles Tamm, reunited with a crowd favorite kiss

Thursday, July 11, 2013

ELS 14 - Idle Hands

“Well, now what?”
Kazia asked herself
Sitting down heavily on the front steps to the building
Her heavy bag with most of everything she owned in it next to her

Charles hadn’t been home

She was certain she had the right place
Because true to his meticulous nature
His name had even been on the door

A kind lady a few doors down from his had told her she had seen him a few hours before
That he had been on his way out

Kazia looked around her as the hard stone step flattened her butt
And decided that this was no way to spend her first day here

Going back upstairs
She arranged with the woman she had spoken with before to watch her bag
There was nothing in the bag that couldn’t be replaced easily anyways

Now, unencumbered by the weight of things
The city awaited her review

Kazia wandered down the sidewalk in a likely direction
Taking in the sights smells and sounds

Buying lunch from a shopkeep
Who, for a small fee, converted one of her silver coins into local currency
She then went looking for something to pass the time
Watching a street performer play music for a while before moving on again

After walking for the better part of an hour
Kazia found herself standing below, and looking up at, a large marquee
Upon which was plastered a huge nun in black habit
Who seemed to be tearing apart a cage

There wasn’t a line
But there were still people going in
And with every opening of the door to let them in
She heard the cheers and roar of the crowd

It piqued her interest

She bought a ticket and went in
Stopping at the concession for a large beer
Which she drank without even leaving the counter

Another beer found it’s way into her hand
This time from an almost handsome man who had sidled up to her
He was staring at her breasts
Which strained most of her shirts on the best of days
And today had done everyone the favor of both popping a button and being covered in a fine sheen of sweat

She thanked him with her heavily accented voice
Drawing even more interest from him

Which wasn’t really what she wanted
So she made her left boot heel find his right big toe in a painful and almost plausibly accidental way
Before she made her way off with her second beer
And a big smile on her face

Men are the same all over
She thought to herself as she climbed the set of steps up into the auditorium

The sound of the crowd deafened her as she passed through the doors
Everyone’s attention focused upon the center ring lit up in spotlights
A wire mesh cage was around the ring with an open top
Inside two black clad figures were wrestling around together
With one of them screaming loudly and jumping to it’s feet

Blood suddenly appeared on the floor of the ring
And Kazia Tamm saw something that made her drop her second beer

Charles’ face
Looking straight in her direction into the spotlight
Covered in smeared face paint
But definitely him

Being held in submission by a Short Fat Man dressed as a Nun

Her feet were running down the aisle seemingly before she even commanded them

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

ELS 13 - Desperate Measures

Maybe this was my moment

After bouncing me off the ropes
Harvey The Nun would pick me up and body slam me to the canvas

At least that’s what was going to happen if I remembered correctly

So far in the match I’d recalled the right steps and motions better than three quarters of the time it seemed
Or it could have been Harvey carrying me

I had been going along with things
Trying to lull him into a mindset that I wasn’t going to cause trouble

Coming straight at him now
I could see him poised to catch and lift me
So I made a move

While making a confused noise to try to throw him off
I fell to my side
Sliding into his legs and knocking them aside

Harvey The Nun fell heavily onto the ring surface
Making a huge thud in the process

I swung my legs over and clamped his neck in a leg lock
Turning my upper body to try to get ahold of his legs
With a half formed plan to put on a submission hold of some kind

Any such thoughts were interrupted by an instant flare of pain from my thigh as Harvey was trying to take a bite out of my muscle!

I screamed an almost Junior Sister-like scream and disentangled myself from him as fast as I could

I stood quickly and faced Harvey The Nun
Pulling up my black robe for a quick look at the damage

Blood ran down my leg and dripped onto the ring canvas
Bright red upon the dirty grey mat surface

The crowd roared it’s approval at the sight of blood
The announcer rebounded from our departure in script
Adding some color to the situation

I heard him say the Junior Sister must be having her time of the month

Turning my head to look at the announcer
Incredulous at what he’d said
I realized my mistake too late
As Harvey The Nun crashed into me
A collision in splayed black fabric
Picking me up and slamming me to the ground in earnest
Driving all of his weight seemingly through me and into the mat beneath
Knocking all the wind out of me
And the headpiece from my head

His face close to mine
Show makeup smeared with sweat into a ghoulish mask of streaked color
Harvey grinned darkly
“So, little sister wants to play after all, eh?”

Before I could catch my breath
He had spun me over onto my stomach and put all of his weight onto my back
Hooking my arm in a Fujiwara Arm Lock

The announcer picked up the chatter to the crowd
“Right now The Nun is putting strain on all the joints in the Sister’s arm
Pulling them apart slowly and painfully
The Sister is going to have to tap out I think
She just doesn’t have a choice!”

And it was true
I could feel my arm being pulled apart by Harvey
I lifted up my head
Facing the audience
And yelled at the pain
But it didn’t help

Harvey was whispering in my ear
“Tap out bitch…….c’mon!”

But I couldn’t
I mustn’t

Suddenly the ring shook oddly
And the announcers shrill voice cut through the fog of pain and submission in my head
“My god, who is that?
Someone do something……!!”

And all I could think was:

“Now what?”

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

ELS 12 - All Ashore!

A ringing bell awoke all of the passengers in Cabin 412C
Kazia and her three cabin mates coming alive with anticipation of getting out of the bowels of this ship

The two week crossing had been miserable
With water constantly sloshing around
The pumps seemingly unable to keep up with the seawater that wanted to be inside with us

Early on there had been trouble with a group of young men
This was ended abruptly with two broken noses and one broken collar bone
Bruised egos not counting
None of them belonging to Kazia

This had brought about the (mostly) unspoken rule in the depths of the ship
“Leave the bitch in Cabin 412C alone”

Trips topside had been minimal
As the trip had been plagued with bad weather
Making any excursion to the deck and fresh air an exercise in being excitingly seasick

Though for her money
Kazia preferred being sick in the open air
To being cooped up along with everyone else in the cabin

Normally spending such periods of time with three other people would bring them together somewhat
And it had
At least for the other three

All three of her cabin mates had been from the same place
They shared a language as well as common geography

Kazia spoke a different language
And while they all could speak a little English
There weren’t enough words to do much with

So it was with cheer that she finally got her bag together from the locker and made her way into the passageways to join the queue for the disembarkation hatch

The man in front of Kazia smelled bad
But she knew that she did too
And so tried not to wrinkle her nose at him too much

The small purse was still three quarters full and pressing into her sternum as it hung from her neck
She pressed her hand to it to reassure herself that it was still there

It held the future

A future she hoped to share with Charles
The man she had promised to marry
Who she had made such love to those many months ago
Upon the hard warm steel of her T-34 tank

She had picked up small bruises from the many fasteners and fittings
But it had been worth it

She pictured his face in her mind
But it seemed less focused than it had been months ago
Softened somewhat

Kazia hoped this wasn’t due to any flagging in her feelings for him

If so

Then the money she had was for her future alone
As she would be trapped in no loveless marriage
Those are always doomed to misery

She vowed not to tell Charles of the nest egg
Until she was certain of their feelings for one another

The line slowly shuffled it’s way forward along the steel passageway
And before she knew it
Kazia Tamm stepped from the gangplank onto the soil of a new world

Wide open in possibilities

Some of the other immigrants stood in a daze
Surrounded by locals offering to help them out

Such offers of ‘help’ sounding suspiciously like being taken advantage of

She had no need of that sort of help
She had an address
And after looking at an information board that had a map of the city tacked to it’s splintered surface
She had committed it to memory thanks to her years of training

Now she had a destination to aim for

Slinging her bag over her shoulder
Kazia made her way out into the city
To the last known location of Charles
The owner of a ring much like hers
And the love of her life


Monday, July 8, 2013

ELS 11 - Two Nuns Under Wire Mesh

A sparkling sea and a wall of sound greeted me as I ran down the entry aisle to the center ring
The crowd was taking pictures incessantly and incoherently chanting god knows what

I hoped that the fear didn’t show on my face

A face that I almost hadn’t recognized after the makeup artist had had her five minutes with me
A little foundation
A touch of rouge here and there
And the reddest lipstick I’d seen since…..

Well, since Harvey had gotten up out of the chair just before I had sat down

I’d actually laughed when I’d seen him
With his heavy wrinkled features suddenly smoothed and feminized

To which he’d quipped
“Just wait till she’s done with you, there Tinkerbell!”

As I jogged down to the ring
My black nun’s habit flowing out behind me
I doubted everything
I couldn’t hardly remember my own name

My only anchor to reality seemed to be the red painted band of steel around my wedding ring finger
I clenched my fist to feel it’s warm hard reassurance
That I was still me
That this was really real
That I was about to step into a cage with The Nun

Who happened to be named Harvey

My Ked’s skidded slightly as I got near the ring
Slipping in someone’s spilled drink or vomit
I didn’t look down to see which it was

The stagehands had securely fastened three sides of the cage to the ring assembly already
Leaving the one side open until both of the nuns were inside

Harvey was waiting inside
Bouncing lightly off the ring ropes
Whirling around and playing the crowd
Pointing at me and drawing his hand across his throat

The crowd was going wild for him

This short fat man in a full black nun’s habit
Transformed into The Nun for the crowd
Seemingly a different person than the one that had been sparring with me for the past half hour

I must have looked stupid to the crowd
For Harvey came over and sat on the second rope just as he had backstage
Offering me his hand as a help up
“Hurry up kid
They want action!”

The announcer off to the side gave commentary to all the goings on
“And in a show of sportsmanship
The Nun is offering a hand up to the Junior Sister!
What a gal for getting this match going!”

After I was safe in the ring
The workers quickly fastened the remaining cage wall to the ring
Fully enclosing us on four sides with eight foot tall chain link fencing

The announcer blathered on about this and that
Mostly lies

The crowd was on it’s feet for us as Harvey and I approached each other in center ring

“Just like we went through before
I’ll help you go where you need to be
And remember to have fun”
Harvey reminded me
With just a glint of menace in his eyes

A promise?
A threat?

I’d soon find out
As I had a secret I’d not told him

In my youth I had been Runner Up to State Champ in Heavyweight Wrestling

I planned on making The Nun earn any victory against the Junior Sister tonight

If I could
I was going to take that thousand dollars home with me

Staring Harvey The Nun in the eyes
I kissed my ring

The bell rang

Fight on!

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Self Titled Wishfullness

Beware the man who calls himself funny
For he will turn out not as funny as he thought
Same for one who dubs himself honest
His lies will soon be caught

Self ascribed attributes should be approached with care
A grain of salt tossed high up in the air
Both for the one who speaks them
And the one who hears

"I'm such a loving husband"
Quoth the man who claims to avoid all marital strife
Oh really my friend?
Is that why I stopped by and caught you beating your wife?

People are walking contradictions it's true
Few are the exception to the rule
And those that claim to be as they insist
Are often the exact ones who are proven the fool

It seems so cynical to say
But the funny ones aren't as funny as they think
Or the dirty, creative, original, happy or sad

If it's a self dubbed title
Then it's often just something they wish that they were

ELS 10 - Sale of the She-Bitch

Winning at this game was the only thing on Kazia Tamm’s mind
As she had left a trail through the picturesque countryside that a child could have followed

Her T-34 tank’s treads had cut a swath of dirty destruction both on and off road over the last seven hours of darkness
Engine wailing away and doubtlessly awakening many of the country folk
She had made her way to the nearest large Separatist encampment
Where she had found about what she had expected

An initial armed and tense response to her arrival in their midst
Followed by a tentative acceptance of her story and intentions
Mostly thanks to her childhood relationship with many of the members of this particular militia group

Kazia had grown up in this area
It’s roads and hilly countryside known to her all her young life before joining the military
Which had given her a huge advantage in her dark nighttime dash with the now silent tracked chariot

Said chariot being the current subject of attention
It had now been stashed away in a nearby barn
Buried in hay and surrounded by goats, chickens, and sheep

Kazia sat in the back room of a shuttered café with a small group of the rebels
All known to her
As she was known to them

After some catching up of personal histories
Negotiations ensued for the tank and additional information on loyalist unit deployments

Her friend’s initial happiness at her seeming defection to their cause had morphed into semi-confused acceptance of her new life plan
After all, she was their friend, who had now given them a tank

So it was
That two hours later
And a few bottles of wine less sober
Kazia Tamm rode out of the village that she had grown up in for the last time
Safely stowed in the cargo area of a moving truck
Her pockets a little heavier with gold and silver coin

A generous goodbye gift and payment from her rebel friends
Who assured her that her tank
Now quickly rechristened as “Smith-Hammer”
Along with the information she had given them
Would be put to good use

Kazia had picked one gold coin from her new purse as the last round of drinks had been poured
With golden rays of the rising sun shining across them through cracks in the boards over the windows
And given it to Mateusz
One of her dearest childhood friends
Now the best marksman in the local militia

Payment for his promise to put a round into the head of her former Unit Commander

She had no doubt he would fulfill that promise

Now filled with rekindled memories of her childhood and friends
A taste of wine and everyone’s goodbye kisses on her lips
Kazia Tamm tapped out an obscure rhythm with her finger while humming an old song
Keeping time with her camo green steel engagement ring on a crate’s edge as she rode to the port city
Where she would buy a ticket on a ship
To take her across the sparkling sea
And a new life

Friday, July 5, 2013

ELS 9 - Learning The Dance

Feeling a bit lost
And likely looking the part too
As I almost blindly followed Harvey the short fat man who was now dressed in a nun's habit

Not that it seemed so unusual now
As I was wearing the same exact thing

I have to admit to it feeling a bit free as I walked quickly to keep up with him
The spandex unitard snugly holding me together underneath the flowing black robes
Though the head piece felt a little strange
Like a combination of a tight hood and a sweatband
If you can imagine that

At least the fabric had been chosen for the job
As it breathed well and had a bit of stretch to it

As we arrived at the big practice ring area
Harvey bounded up to the ring platform and sat on the middle rope
Pushing up the top one and turning to me
"After you, oh mighty challenger!"

A loud noise erupted in the distance
Causing me to glance to the hallway at the other side of the room

"Don't let it distract you
The event is starting but we don't go on for another three matches
We are the second to last fight"
Harvey waved his free arm calling me on
"So hurry up
We only have time to go through this a few times
And we have to hit makeup for a minute before we go out"

I climbed a little awkwardly up onto the apron of the ring
Stepping on my habit's robe and almost falling back down as I did so
Harvey gripped my left forearm until I got my balance
Making me feel like he cared at least a little bit

"Okay Chuck!
Now I'll show you the dance!
Just be loose and let me guide you around
Listen to what I say and do the steps and motions"
His hands were animated as he talked
Pointing this way and that
"First time we'll go slow
Then we'll speed it up a bit"

I held up my hand
"Wait a sec
So this is all choreographed out?"
I asked with niave confusion on my face
"Who is going to win?"

Harvey laughed a genuine laugh
Stinging my sensibilities a little bit
"Don't think of it like that kid
There's no winner
There's no loser
We are just putting on a performance
And the more fun we have with it
The more fun everyone will have watching us do it!"

Frown lines were on my forehead
And I pushed the question a little bit
"But the money
The prize money I mean
Do I get $25 or can I still win and get $1000 dollars?

Harvey got a little more serious
"Look, I like you
And you fit the costume really good
So if you play ball and put on a good show with me
I'll toss you a hundred bucks plus a beer after the match"

This wasn't exactly as I had hoped
"What if I win?"

Harvey frowned now
"You won't"
He flatly stated

"Yes, but what if I do"
I persisted

"You don't win, kid
Now cut it out or I'll toss you out on your butt with no money at all"
Harvey The Nun looked dead serious now
His hands flexing in annoyance at me

But I had my answer for now
So I gave in and we started practicing

Harvey leading me through the moves
Bouncing me off the ropes
Picking me up and setting me down
All at half speed

And I paid attention
Going along with all my heart
Wearing the nun getup without shame
Just as he seemed to

But all the time in the back of my head was an insistent little voice
Telling me one thing

"You have to WIN!"

Thursday, July 4, 2013

ELS 8 - Breakout

“Why are you out here so late?”
The single guard on the tank pen addressed her with unhidden scorn
Eying her up and down her shapely form
“You should be getting your beauty sleep
Not that you really need it”

Kazia brushed a lock of red hair from her eyes with her free hand
She-Bitch is acting up a little bit
I noticed it towards the end of the competition today
And I’d like to make some adjustments before tomorrow’s movement”
She shook her tool bag to illustrate her point that she must have brought tools with her for a reason

The guard’s eyes registered instant boredom with the whole encounter
Who cares about an overzealous tank commander?
It would get her nowhere
“Carry on, Commander”
He waved her through the entrance
Which was really nothing more than a break in the temporary two by four barrier around the tanks

Which everyone just called “The Pen”

Walking past him and into the group of parked tanks
Kazia paused and added over her shoulder
“I will have to start her up and idle for a few minutes
But it won’t be very long”

To which the guard just nodded
Already back into the trashy novel he was holding

As she resumed moving into the pen
She reassured herself that the rest of the camp wouldn’t even hear her start up the engine
Not over the constant howl of the camp generator
Which was back closer to the tents full of the sleeping members of the unit

No, they wouldn’t hear her until it was too late

Altering her path so that it took her to the rear of the first tank in line
Kazia rummaged in her tool bag for a moment
Coming out with two tools in her hand

A slotted screwdriver
And a pair of wire cutters

Stopping at the left rear of the first tank
Opening a small access panel with the screwdriver
Reaching inside up to her elbow with the cutters

An almost inaudible "snip" could be heard
If one was a mouse and sitting in the right place
Securely upon her smoothly muscled forearm perhaps

But nobody heard
Nobody noticed
The guard read his book and smoked a cigarette

She stopped at each tank in turn as she made her way to the rear of the pen
Eleven times she opened that small panel
Snipped a certain set of wires
And closed the panel once again

At the twelfth T-34 tank she paused to stow the two tools back in her bag in a side pocket

She-Bitch glinted dully in the moonlight
The painted mouth and eyes with the nickname in Cyrillic visible in the moonlight

How Kazia had hated that name when the Commanding Officer had bestowed it on her in the first week of duty assignment

How she had learned to love it and make it her own after it had become clear that living and serving in this unit would be an adversarial daily chore

Without making undue commotion
Tank Commander Kazia Tamm unlatched the driver's hatch of her tank and climbed up the front
Reaching in and stowing her bag off to the side
She lowered herself into the suspended seat
Strapped herself in and grabbed her helmet out of the bag
Also getting out the delicate apparatus of the night vision goggles
And attaching them to the special clips on her helmet

Reaching over to the control panel
Fingers easily finding the Master Battery switch
Flipping up the red guard and moving the switch to on before replacing the cover

The instant reward of sets of glowing lights and gauges meeting her eyes

A few more switches and a press of a button saw the diesel V-12 engine of the tank rumble to life

And in these few minutes of relative peace
Kazia closed her eyes while the systems warmed up
Thinking of everything that had pushed her to this
Of her dreams that wouldn't happen now
Of Charles living in the city across the ocean
Of her wispy strands of a plan that might see her to that same city in scant weeks from now

Glancing at the control panel and being satisfied with what she sees
The night vision goggles are affixed in the proper place
Game face firmly affixed

The dirty T-34 tank with a determined She-Bitch at the controls roars to full throttle
Tracks throwing gravel as it leaps backwards bursting through the pen rails
Pirouetting in place momentarily before bursting up the road at full gallop
Disappearing quickly in the dim moonlight

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

ELS 7 - Backstage Dress-Up

Fat Bald Man kept on moving as he talked
“The practice ring is set up this way
We’ll get in there and I’ll walk you through the match
Don’t worry if you forget something during the real thing
I’ll lead you along when you need it
So try to have fun
The crowd will be able to tell and they’ll respond to it”

He stopped his rambling waddle gait at a door just short of the end of the hallway
Where I could see the practice ring in a much larger room

Hand on the worn brass knob
He continued
“This is wardrobe
We’ll both get suited up
There really isn’t time for us to rehearse so this will all be a dress run through”

I followed him through the old doorway
Into a medium sized room lit brightly by fluorescent lights
Made to feel smaller than it was by the travel wardrobes lining the walls
The brightly colored fabrics of hundreds of costumes creating a cacophonic wall of color

Grabbing one of those hooked reaching sticks that clothing retailers use for retrieving clothes from the second level racks in stores
Fat Bald Man reached out with it and hooked a hangar shrouded in black cloth
Pulling it out and offering it to me

“This will fit, don’t worry
That’s one of the reasons I picked you”
He said to me before turning back to the wardrobe and pulling out a second bundle of black cloth on a hangar with his stick

He pointed to a corner dressing area
“Don’t just stand there……..
I didn’t catch your name”

“Charles, it’s Charles”
I offered before hustling over to the dressing table

“Nice to meet you Chuck”
He offered as he stowed his stick and followed me
“My name’s Harvey
Been doing this shtick for almost ten years
You’re gonna have a great time!”

I hung up the hangar with the costume next to the mirror and started taking a look at it

It wasn’t made of cotton
Though it appeared so to casual inspection
It was more of a lycra blend of some kind
Stretchy and rather thin feeling
Which made sense for a fight costume

Taking the head piece and setting it on the table
And laying the outer black robe next to it revealed the black unitard on the hangar

“Put that on first”
Harvey told me
“Then put on a pair of elbow and knee pads
Before the outer robe”

He pointed at a bin full of used looking protective gear in the corner

I started taking off my pants when it finally dawned on me that Harvey was putting on the same outfit that I was
Just in a much shorter
Albeit wider size

“Are you……I mean, are we…..”
I started asking haltingly

Harvey laughed heartily
“Yeah kid
I’m The Nun”

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

ELS 6 - Making a Break

“What the hell was I doing?”

She’d asked that question many times in the last three whirlwind days

Now, sitting here in the darkness
Alone with her thoughts
Joined only by her three cabin mate’s sleeping sounds
Two distinct snoring patterns
And one that wheezed a bit

Wheeze it on in……
Wheeze it on out

In three days time
She’d gone from being an upstanding citizen serving her country
To a deserter
A thief
A traitor
A liar

She didn’t feel like the woman that she was three days ago
Who proudly drove her T-34 tank through the finish line of the annual unit competition
Triumphant and glowing
A red grin holding a cigar in white teeth
Flanked by snarling wolf motif

What followed was like a bad dream

Her commanding officer
Furious at her for winning
For defeating all the men in the unit
For gaining the coveted transfer spot to a larger unit
With newer equipment
A higher profile

He had ordered her to park her tank off to the side
And while her crew had gaped at the unbelievable spectacle
Had practically dragged her from the driver’s seat through the hatch
Proceeding to dress her down in front of all the other soldiers
Accusing her of cheating on the course
Of being a drunk
Of using narcotics
Of dereliction of duty
Of insubordination

Everything he could think of short of the truth:
That she was only guilty of one thing

Of being a successful woman in this man’s army

He had finished off his tirade against her
By cuffing her on the side of the head
So hard she lost her balance and fell

While being picked up by her mostly loyal crew
The C.O. had strode to back to the larger group of soldiers
Proclaiming her victory null and void

That the next tank to cross the finish line would be the real winner
Whenever it was that it arrived

The rest of the afternoon and evening had been a blur of tears for Commander Kazia Tamm

Cheers and celebrations for the “winning” team
A few pitying glances from her comrades
But mostly scorn
A million different thoughts racing through her head all at once

By lights out
Kazia was only thinking one thought:
To get the hell out of here and get on with her life

There would be no success for her here
That much was clear

She sat on her bunk looking at a small picture of Charles
The man who had stolen her heart a blink of time and eight months ago
And fingering her steel engagement band
Dully reflecting the lamplight in chipped dark green

A plan slowly formed in her head in those moments
And without thinking about it enough to talk herself out of it
She acted upon it

For sometimes that is what must be done when time is short

Opening her locker
Kazia took out her gear
Adding only a pair of night vision goggles to what she had used today during the competition
Stuffing it into her tool bag
Along with her small pile of money she had saved up
And securely closing the bag

Her cot was a mess
So she took a moment to tighten the corners so it looked neat
Before picking up her gear and leaving the tent

Outside, a half moon shone down in a clear sky
A perfect night for a drive
Glinting off the shiny head of the unit mascot
Which sat in the middle of their gathering of tents
A medium sized bronze wolf statue
Supposedly liberated years before from a Nazi command center

Kazia stroked it’s head on her way by
Honoring tradition and hopefully gaining an ounce of luck
Knowing it would be the last time she would ever do so

Into the moonlit night she went
Quiet as a cat
Towards the tank pen

Monday, July 1, 2013

ELS 5 - Chosen For The Nun

The shorter side stage door line moved quickly
With the five men in front of me being turned away
Sent along with what turned out to be a coupon for a free beer and popcorn at concession

As the last man in front of me moved away
I got a look at the fat bald man sitting on a barstool
His stool wedged in the half open stage door
He had a clipboard and a cup of coffee

Fat bald man eyeballed me from head to toe
Glancing back and forth from his clipboard to me
Then to the doorframe next to him
Where I noticed one of those hash marked stickers you'd see in convenience store doorways
So that the clerks can tell the cops how tall a robber is just by looking at that

With a voice that sounded like a toad's and breath like a sewer bum's
Fat bald man spewed a question towards me
"So you wanna do this, cupcake?"

I nodded with my resolve slowly melting in the onslaught of his stench

"Okay, you'll do"
Looking past me to the rest of the short line, saying
"All done, thanks for trying out
The three of you come here"
As he gestured them forward
Giving all three of the other guys in line their refreshment coupon

One of them trying to give him guff about choosing me
Which fat bald man addressed by crumpling up the coupon and tossing it a few feet down the sidewalk
"Fetch, boy"
He said with a threatening sneer
Pulling his coat open slightly
Revealing the worn butt of a pistol protruding from the front waistband of his fat man trailer park stretch pants

After the last guy from our short line dispersed
Fat bald man hopped off his stool
Revealing himself to be extraordinarily short as well as fat and bald

"C'mon, let's go"
He said

So without much more thought
I followed the little waddling beach ball of a man
As he dragged the stool inside the door and held it open for me

He closed the door as soon as I was through
Locking it with an old sounding "clank"

Darkness surrounded me in the relative dimness of the old service area of the theater
Strange smells and sounds invading my senses
Causing panic to rise like bile in my throat

What the hell was I doing?