First act

On entering world:

Kill my mother.




William Boyd, opening line from

The New Confession, 1988




She told a fib

When something bad happens to me
I want my mother
if I have to airlift you to the hurt and put
a squadron of searchlights on it I will just to
hear your sweet voice sweetly say-

you think you got it bad, you shoulda seen the
imitation oriental turquoise belt buckle the
two-bit boyfriend bought me--
did he think I wouldn't
notice, fuckin PHONY!
Why do I bother, Rob? its all lies, deception, evasions, I honestly don't know how I manage to put one
foot in front of the other every day
people marvel at my inner resources-

like they really give a flying fuck huh, fuck, shit, piss, I don't even
REMEMBER the first eight years of my childhood, I ever tell you that? Huh, kid? You
still on the line?

when something bad happens to me I want my mother.
focal point of every lawn party you crashed
mean drunk Liz Taylor
oozing cleavage and star quality
swaying to Tammy Wynette in the limelight
your car in the driveway
rugrat riff-raff napping in the
a juvinile muse knocking hard on the window.


When I need a shot of
your bourbon wisdom, your
death-row compassion
I take my cue from the books of Ann Rule
and weep for her homocidal mothers who
started out weak
and ended up monsters.
All of a sudden i got no complaint,
the hairs on the back of my neck
stand up and
salute your unparalleled restraint.

When something bad happens to me
I find myself in the Bigwheel Truckstop
blathering nonsensical theoretical discourse
with bleary
red eyed diesel drivers,
my sequined hand wrapped
around a squat
ceramic coffee mug,
wearing feather earrings,
frosted wiglet,
and your old whoring gown,
mispronouncing words
on purpose and
using coarse language
is mother-freaking close enough
to having
you around.


Yours truly,

the walking abortion








Copyright 2002 Robin Plan and troublewaits.com. All rights reserved.