December 14, 2005
Car Dream #48
CAR DREAM #48
by Michael Kroetch
Death wants to have a good time. He puts on a clown nose, big blue shoes, and checkered pants. Ha, ha, ha! He thinks he’s a scream. He looks in the mirror. Damn, no image. Still, he wants to see if he looks as funny as thinks he does. He asks his dog. It has three heads. None of them agree. This isn’t any fun at all. Poor Death. He steps out, goes for a drive. He drives to town, parks, hops out, looks at the parking meter and laughs. Big. His time is expired? Ha, ha, ha. In the street he finds a child in a stroller. He makes an absurd face for the child. The child cries. Its mother hears the cries, sees Death and screams for the police. Now, Death thinks, this is getting fun. The police tell Death to freeze. Death laughs harder. The police shoot. Their bullets tickle Death. He can’t take it; his eyes are full of tears he’s laughing so hard. He tells the police to stop. Please. The police say that’s more like it. They take Death to jail, but get upset when he has no finger prints and doesn’t show up in their pictures. They ask him what’s going on—is he a magician? Death says not really, but he does have trick that will make everybody disappear. Really? they say. Sure, Death says and snaps his fingers.
October 29, 2005
Car Dream #13
CAR DREAM #13
by Michael Kroetch
The boy sits on top of a car heap. Life means little to him. He is going to jump and does. His pants come off in the air. So do his shoes. His shirt, too. He is naked when he lands. He lands in the lap of a virgin. It’s the virgin Mary. She has a necklace of meat around her neck which she offers to the boy. She says to dig in. She says to chew twelve times. She says to eat of the meat and be complete. In her hand is a cup of blood. She pours some into the boy’s hair. She tells him it feels good, doesn’t it? She tells him if he’s good he’ll get a prize. She tickles the boy and says he’s naughty. Why won’t he eat? Here, she says, see. As she says this, she takes a bite. The meat is uncooked and messy. She is soon covered with its blood. Here, she says, putting a hunk of the meat into the boy’s mouth. It’s good. Taste it.
December 08, 2004
Car Dream #38
CAR DREAM #38
by Michael Kroetch
The relic truck came down our street once a week. My cousin was always first to hear the bells. He’d drop whatever he was doing, even if it was baseball, and run out onto the porch yelling, They’re here! They’re here! Usually their stuff was so holy we could hardly believe it: Parts of the Cross. Saints’ feet. Or fingers. Maybe even a hair shirt or two. My cousin preferred jawbones. He always made sure to ask if their were any jawbones in there. They were what he’d look at first. You’re not supposed to touch relics. They have signs all over saying so, but my cousin likes jawbones. He’d wait until the guys with cigars weren’t looking and then he’d reach out over the glass and go touch, touch, touch. He once got so into it that he picked one of them up, brought it down and rubbed himself until I had to look away.
August 23, 2004
Car Dream #14
CAR DREAM #14
by Michael Kroetch
Everyone has a car. So does he. His is small. Small enough to fit into his pocket. But he’s never put it there. He’s afraid. He is a man of religion. He can’t do such things. However, tonight he wakes up with it on his tongue. Tickling. And it doesn’t listen to him. The stubborn thing will not move. It sits there tickling till he licks it. Sinful car! This licking is something the man hates to do. It makes his cheeks crimson and his breath so quick he can’t stop so that he licks and licks till he bleeds. Till his tongue is torn and there are red tire tracks all over his sheets. Ugly-sinful-horrible-icky car! The man hurls it against the wall, bursting it into pieces. Then he cries and kisses them. Each one.
