Sizing Up My Halo

Sizing Up My Halo
copyright 2008 - 2012
@aladreth antoinette brown
Previously published July 1, 2008




Remember that time
on the hood of a car
in Sedona,
you sang to me eno,
sang me the stars,
played me steve in "The Jerk"
complete with banjo and hay in the teeth?

you bought me books and opium,
you ran to kill
something
that would make me taste
vinegar for a week
if it bit me

we were
"serious practitioners" of the
alternative arts -

We bought Walmart.

Well, you can't buy Walmart, can you?
It's sort of a monopoly.

But, we bought cases and cases of
toilet paper, plastic flowers, confetti,
and barbecue sauce.

We needed everything
anyone would buy.

We were so damn smart, but still,
dirt poor and bare foot; stealing
pharmaceuticals from our jobs.

We saw george carlin,
(since everyone is talking about him now)
he used the "f" word a lot

We saw a horse farmer
who said we should be married
so I said
I would drive you through
the Elvis Chapel in Vegas
and marry you.

I don't know why you were so scared,
for pete's sake, I was already married!

I recall being very stressed out
after sex,
worried if ultrasonic waves
would kill the crickets in my house
Way after you were asleep
I snuck out
of the bed
and unplugged the ultrasonic thingies
you had so proudly purchased
and I hid them from you
because crickets in the house,
are good luck, you know

Remember, I threatened
to kidnap james spader
and fuck him silly?

you said you would bail me out
if I would be indebted to you
and let you see me behind bars
(it was a fetish of yours
left over from Danish
"Educator" days)

Remember when we shared a waitress
in a cummerbund, cucumber, and chardonnay?

One night, you told me,
"You have some low down friends"
you said,
"You are sizing up that halo, Girl,
dealing with them guys, 'cos
your friends are rotten-good-for
nuthin' snakes."

All your friends said
you ate creativity for breakfast,
because, well damnit, you are creative,
you sing and play the guitar and make music,
hell, you make covers, you make
salt packets, you make Indiana purses,
you make sunflower duvets bow, you make me
steal Sardax,
you tied in the trees,
the trees;
my dress,
you make me doctor it pinkish red and
you make the dog bark when he hears your voice
sound like a cow of memories on the X-files synth

I make a horrible sound ...
such a horrid, scary sound
driving up and down your street,
looking for your new red car,
smelling for New York style cheesecake
humming the song you taught me with orbs,
creeks, colours, and cranes.

God, if only again,
to lay in your arms again,
to size up my halo