A Simple Note

A simple note is never so simple
There is a draft
a revision
some time for reflection
on the sentence or two
that will carry my sentiments—

Reading it aloud again and again
Sifting through words that might miss their mark
or may be misconstrued as slightly offensive
I question—
Does the occasion call for such careful deliberation?

A simple note?

It’s signed, folded, inserted—
the envelope sealed—
then unsealed, removed, and unfolded before the saliva has dried—
One final inspection for lexical defects
Then refolded, reinserted, resealed with tape—

A simple note—

A congratulations on the birth of your son
And a happy second birthday to him, too.

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The Shells

Feel the crunching of the shells-
Helpless shells!
What a world of broken homes this grind foretells!
How they glitter, glitter, glitter
on the crowded beach tonight!
Gone are displaced crawling critters,
replaced now by piles of litter.
Stereos boom, boom, boom
and drunken parties loom.
Oh, how I long to hear
the ocean swells
from the shells, shells, shells, shells,
shells, shells, shells –
From the murmurs and the echoes of the shells.

Find those perfect, hollowed shells
Ocean shells!
What a barren world their scarcity foretells!
Their tenants ran, consumed with fright.
Plastic ice-chests they could not fight.
Their homes are in ruin,
and in shattered pieces float
On shallow water of a sandcastle’s moat.
On this dune
is not a single well-formed shell.
I begin to feel frustration swell.
Children yell.
Vendors sell
what will be trash! – hear me tell
Consumer greed they do compel.
We’re given things and dreams
but no shells, shells, shells.
But no shells, shells, shells, shells,
Shells, shells, shells –
Lost is the finding and collecting of the shells!

Ah, see the perfect ivory shells,
Pretty shells!
See them! See those shells that Sally sells!
Her booth was hidden by the night.
That big one’s mine– the price is right!
Cash, credit card, or even check
I buy and wear it around my neck.
The time is late.
Except for the few around a midnight fire
the crowds have gone
and to my desire
waves have risen higher, higher, higher.
The ocean is a choir.
I’ll sit here forever and ever
On broken shells or whatever.
Under the light of a brand new moon
On the shells, shells, shells!
On the shells, shells, shells, shells
Shells, shells, shells –
I’m wearing and I’m crushing all the shells.

shells

 

The Whistling Rebel

The other day I found myself in the hallway of the vacant 13th floor of an office building. As I approached the intersection with another hallway, I heard someone whistling Mary Had a Little Lamb. When I turned the corner at the intersection I came face to face with the construction worker who was responsible for the performance. He quickly modified his tune by throwing in some random notes to obscure the original melody.

It didn’t fool me, and I thought about calling him out on it. But then I remembered all the times when I thought I’d been alone and whistled corny songs. I myself had been a victim of music bullying, teased for liking or whistling uncool music or for being clueless to the latest music trends.

In Elementary School, I was a kid unsure of how to defend myself for whistling Eine Kleine Nachtmusik while walking down the hall. I didn’t have enough “street sense” at the time to say, “Oh, I’m just whistling that annoying IHOP song.” Instead, I’d confess that I’d been sharing a Mozart tune with the world and would deal with the subsequent snickers.

Not only was my whistled music ridiculed. Later, in my high school and college years, my mix tapes were always rejected at parties and social gatherings, perhaps for my persistent inclusion of Safety Dance (the most fun song ever) on every mix.

I’m sure we all have a favorite song we’re too ashamed of to admit. Why is this? Why should a particular arrangement of tones be more culturally acceptable than others? I think we would all like to release our inner Carlton Banks, which perhaps is why the Carlton dance resonates with so many people. We would like the opportunity to be happy without fear of derision for the very thing that makes us happy.

What is interesting to me is the whistling phenomenon. What we whistle is normally an unconscious decision. We’re repeating something we’ve recently heard or recalling something close and familiar. We just do it. A melody takes hold and emerges from our pursed lips.  And it always happens when we’re happy or at least solidly content (I’ve never considered whistling Mozart’s Requiem when in a depressed mood). So, if the melodies we whistle are associated with happiness, why would we suppress the other outlets of these songs for the sake of social conformity? Do we value acceptance more than happiness? Should we be ashamed for being a whistling rebel?

What the Guidelines Say

The guidelines say

who and how we may love

what we might say

what a woman should be

            all autonomy

unless she should desire to reject

the rigid role of dutiful wife and sell her appeal for a buck tucked under string

because the guidelines tell us exactly how we are to be free

and the guidelines say

how we should pray

and who we obey

and how it’s okay

to have our own way

as long as we stay

within God We Trust

and celebrate the holy day

of gingerbread men and candy canes

and the guidelines say

on whom we may prey

and whom to blame

when there’s sickness or disease

or murder or pain

and the guidelines say

how much a criminal should pay

and to whom he should write the check

and the guidelines say

we may tweak the guidelines

for those who are close

as long as no one knows.

Mister

(He is well-known so I won’t reveal his name)

I met him when I was young.

He lurked in an unmarked van near the school

and once moved into the vacant house next door.

He was a foreigner –

an intruder to our land.

As I aged

I realized

every night

he entered my home through the screen

and I watched him with suspicious eyes.

I erected walls,

secured locks,

but like a stubborn itch

he always reappeared.

He sat next to me on the airplane

as I quivered in my seat.

He tracked me through the wires,

threatening to steal my life,

and I spent my nights

awaiting the midnight tapping at the door.

 

Eventually

I would surrender to him.

He was my protector,

the one keeping me safe at night.

 

Until the drunken dinner

when I carved him up

soaked him in butter

and ate him

brushing off the parsley and chives

relishing every bite

postponing the certainty

this would later make me sick.

 

And now I am dying

of this terminal disease

called life.

 

Why was he always near?

And who was so cruel

to introduce me to fear.

Mister2

In the Newds

Exotic dancers last week in Ohio staged a protest against New Beginnings Ministry by holding a topless rally outside the church’s doors. They held signs with slogans such as “Be curious, not judgmental.” This protest was in response to the church members picketing the Foxhole North, a strip club in nearby New Castle. Since there are no laws in Ohio prohibiting the exposure of bare breasts, the demonstration didn’t attract law enforcement but instead captured the attention of the media and a few curious onlookers. After church services, parishioners were shielded from the shock of topless women and ushered out the back door to the rear parking lot.

protest11

The protest did little to garner meaningful support for either side of the confrontation, yet somehow, at the height of the protest, both sides claimed to have won. The church’s pastor noted the fact that the strippers would resort to this behavior was evidence that the church’s efforts to harass the strip club were working.  The strippers probably noted the number of people who had come to stand with them as proof of their own success.

At first glance, it would seem the strippers may have misinterpreted the motives of their supporters who probably were more intent on stealing a look at naked breasts than showing actual support for the strip club’s cause.

The church, it would seem, clearly had the upper hand in the ongoing clash. Patrons of Foxhole North had been shamed home by the church’s picketers to the point where business must have suffered (otherwise there would have been no point for the topless counter protest).  Conversely, parishioners of the church could not be shamed by the topless protest. This is the beauty (and the scary thing) of organized religion. You always have the moral high ground no matter how distasteful your practices may seem to others. But isn’t there something supremely distasteful by blatantly infringing on a person’s religious views? The topless protest most likely only emboldened and strengthened the faith of the people inside.

How then is it possible for the Foxhole North to claim victory?

On second glance, the topless protesters may have a point. The goal of the protest was never to stop people from attending New Beginnings Ministry. The goal of the protest was to bring attention to the obvious. Breasts are fascinating.[1] Bare them in public and you instantly become newsworthy. In London, feminists protested the rigidity of sharia law by staging a nude rally, although it’s unclear if onlookers were able perceive anything beyond the nipple. A megaphone on a busy street corner is no match for the draw of a bare breast. Today, August 24, is Go Topless Day, where women are encouraged to strive for equality with men in the right to bare an unclothed chest. Woman all over the world are encouraged to go topless, and men parading with them have the opportunity to wear bikinis (and to get a front row view of bare breasts). Some of these rallies have had protesters holding signs with messages like, “You’re going to hell,” but did anyone really notice them? Maybe if they went topless…

In most of these rallies, it’s hard to get beyond the bare breasts to the real issue.[2] The Ohio protest was different. Now, on third glance, it would appear the protesters achieved exactly what they wanted. In their case, the breasts didn’t detract from a greater message of religious dogma or equal rights. The issue here was the breast. It didn’t matter if the crowd of media and curious citizens supported the Foxhole North or the church. What mattered is that there were a lot of curious people. What mattered is that they reminded us that given the chance, men will position themselves to gain a view of the blessed nipple. It’s human nature, which although at odds with our religious prohibitions, is biological reality. It reminded people that if they want a place to look at the bare breast without feeling guilty that they’re shamefully ignoring the substance beyond the breast, they have a home at Foxhole North.

Final Score[3]

Foxhole North                        2

New Beginnings Ministry        1

 

 

[1] For example, the design of the smooth, golden arches of McDonald’s was no accident, although the original artists would claim to reference the maternal, nurturing aspect of female breasts rather than their sexual allure as the underlying motive behind the design.

[2] Few probably know that Go Topless Day has its roots in the Raelien movement which believes that aliens came to our planet and designed human DNA and that Go Topless Day was intended to be an opportunity to celebrate the artistry of aliens rather than be ashamed of it. Now, the movement supposedly espouses equal rights.

[3] This isn’t a score of who ultimately is right or wrong, but rather, who had the upper hand in the protest.


 

The opinions expressed in this essay are solely those of DF Salvador and do not necessarily reflect the views of dfsalvador.com.

Grill Euphoria

As one fire ascends the jagged horizon of wooden fence

the nightly creatures, red-faced and salivating, converge toward the glow

carrying torches and tridents and thick slabs of raw meat.

 

A phosphorescent glow radiates from the coal,

the first smell—bitter and dry—billows from the pit

embers dance,

at the first sizzle, conversations cease.

 

The men grin their wet teeth

as the aroma summons hunger, curiosity, and unwanted advice.

 

Then comes the boy—naïve, untrained, and premature—with barbeque sauce

in a squeezable bottle

 

He is admonished and shamed.

This is the day he learns:

Never disrupt grill euphoria.

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