Category Archives: creative non-fiction

Amazon giveaway: the spider lady and other short stories and poetry

Poetry Reading at the Parkside Restaurant. Stinson Beach, CA

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The Spider Lady and other Short stories and poetry is now in stock on amazon

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Today is the official release date, May 21st

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The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry is in stock on Amazon and ships immediately!

Thank you to all the followers of my blog! I will keep you posted. Now I am off to the open mic night to recite my poetry!

Liquor Store Stories: The Three Marks

Liquor Store Stories Downsized

It was a lonely night on the main drag of a very small town.
The electric signs were the cheeriest things around. Since it
was Friday night I had another liquor store clerk working with
me. I was at the beginning of the night shift with my partner
for the night. He was a young, black guy named Mark who I
had gone to high school with. Another clerk had come by to
pick up his weekly paycheck. His name was Mark, also. I was
in the back room loading liquor bottles into a shopping cart to
take out front and stock on the shelves.

Suddenly the clerk who had come to pick up his paycheck
came to the door and said, “Mark, get out here quick!” I was
the sort of unofficial, night manager there at the time. I had no
idea what was going on but I guessed it was one of those times
I would have to take responsibility for what happened. No one
had ever said to me, “Get out here quick!” like that before. I
followed Mark to the front of the store. He was already
standing outside on the other side of the other Mark. With me
on the right end we formed a line of three young men in front
of the liquor store.

Standing in front of us was a line of three other individuals
and an old pick-up truck. The three young men all had blonde,
short hair. All three wore faded straight leg, blue jeans and
white tee shirts. They were suntanned and muscular like
construction workers. I looked at the Mark I had gone to high
school with, standing next to me. Mark was wearing a tight,
dark colored, double knit shirt. He always had a naturally
round, chubby face but he was in good shape and very
muscular himself. His muscles were bristling but he was
facing three, burly guys. Probably as far as he was sure of it
was his own fight. He was visibly scared but every muscle of
his body was twitching. He was ready to fight for his life.

I looked over at the other Mark. He was a young, white guy
with brown hair. He was calm and stood steadfast. He had his
hands in the pockets of his windbreaker jacket. This Mark was
not a big guy. He was about my size. However in his full time
job in the Air Force he was with the military police. He just
had a desk job though but he was one of those guys who just
wanted to be a cop. He didn’t like just having a desk job.

The question mark was with me. I’m a smaller guy but as I
looked over at Mark with his muscles twitching and I looked at
the other Mark who was calm and steadfast I realized it didn’t
matter. Just the fact that there were three of them and three of
us was enough. The black Mark in his anger and fear was the
really scary one among us. I stood there with my hands in my
windbreaker pockets in line with the others facing these
irrational, young men. I mainly just felt a sense of sadness. I
recognized these young men as boys I had seen in high school.
They always walked around together in a group. I felt sad that
this had to be happening. It was like something that I knew
existed, that I had heard about or read about but never expected
to see. Who could believe this was actually happening? But it
was real.

I looked at the young men in front of us. Their hands were
at their sides with fingers curling as if to make fists, then
relaxing and curling. Then they relaxed their fingers again as
they noticed that I was watching their hands. The large
muscles of their arms were twitching. I looked over my left
shoulder and glanced at the large, plate glass of the storefront
behind us. This was my main concern. I imagined if this
really turned into a fight the danger of the glass shattering and
cutting us.

Now that there were three of us standing side by side things
were different. They actually started to back down. They
started to head for their old, primer gray, pickup truck. We all
automatically started going back into the store. When we went
inside I automatically started to go back to work stocking
liquor bottles.

We heard the sound of the truck starting up. Soon the truck
was driving slowly past the open, front door. One of the guys
yelled, “You’re all a bunch of nigger lovers!” which wasn’t
very insulting to any of us actually since we had nothing
against black people. It was sad to hear the n word though.
The truck roared off into the night.

I brought the shopping cart from the back of the store and
proceeded to stock the bottles. The black Mark started helping
me stock liquor on the shelves. Soon we were all joking and
laughing as if nothing had happened. The other Mark said
goodbye and left with his paycheck. We finished out the night
shift and locked up the store. As far as I know no one has ever
mentioned the experience since.

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Catholic School Stories: First Holy Communion

Communion

I started school in first grade. Kindergarten was not
required in those days. I was still five. It was then that I had
my first big crush. Her name was Theresa. She had pale,
blonde hair and fair skin. She was so beautiful I couldn’t stop
looking at her.

I was considered to be the smartest boy in the class. She
was considered to be the smartest girl. I was, also, the smallest
boy in the class. She was the smallest girl. Consequently
when we had to march in single file to go somewhere else in
the school or to the church we were first in each of the lines
with the boys in the left line and the girls in the right line. The
smallest to the tallest in each line and so we always held hands.
I must admit I loved to hold her hand. She didn’t seem to mind
holding mine although she seemed a little embarrassed and she
smiled coyly. I was glad. I loved to walk beside her through
the breezeways of St. John The Evangelist School.

In the second grade we started to study for our first holy
communion. Our parents had to buy us boys a little, blue, clip
on tie to wear. The boys got a package with a black prayer
book. It had a cover that held a rosary. The girls got a white
prayer book and rosary.

On the day of the first holy communion I was the first in the
line of boys on the left side of the center aisle. Theresa was the
first in the line of girls on the right side. We marched slowly as
we were taught with our hands pressed flat together, fingers
pointed straight up in prayer on our way to the altar. When we
got to the altar the boys knelt down at the altar in a line to the
left. The girls knelt down in a line to the right. Since I and
Theresa were at the front of the line we were the only boy and
girl kneeling down at the altar next to each other.

I couldn’t stop turning to my right to look at her. Her hands
were on the altar pressed together in prayer. She had a circle
of white lace, bobby pinned on top of her beautiful, blonde
hair. She looked so beautiful in her white, communion dress.
She looked straight ahead with a rhapsodic look in her eyes. I
thought I saw just a trace of a smile on her dainty face. Two
priests came to us to give each of us the host. Altar boys held
gold patens under our chins while each priest took a host from
their gold chalices to place the hosts on our tongues. They said,
“The Body of Christ” and we both said, “Amen”.

 

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McArthur Street: Creative Non-Fiction: Episode One

McArthur Street Downsized

All evil seems to arise from the desire to dominate others.
Most men in our society are taught from a very early age to try
to dominate. It isn’t something that they think about
consciously. It operates at a subconscious level. They are
taught by the adults around them and their peers. Someone
dominates them and they in turn try to dominate others. They
do it without even realizing it and they do it without even
thinking about why. It is without question. In their conscious
awareness they may aspire to grandiose ideals but their actions
speak for what really motivates them from a subconscious
level.
-Mark Alberto Yoder Nuñez

When was it? When I started sixth grade and I was still ten
my older brother, Daniel, the oldest of the family, a year older
than myself, made friends with a boy in his class, Jimmy. It
turned out that Jimmy lived on the next street to the north of
ours, a street called McArthur Street. Our street was called E.
Illinois Street. It was unusual to meet someone who went to
our own school who, also, lived in our neighborhood since we
went to a Catholic, parochial school miles farther away than
the local public school. This was certainly a novelty. So it
was in a mood of high spirits that I went with my older brother
on a warm, Tucson, Saturday morning to visit in a foreign land,
McArthur Street, the street next to ours.

Jimmy was standing in his front yard expecting us. It was
the second house from the end after crossing the street. The
day was already growing hot in the desert climate. Jimmy was
much taller than my brother. He had blonde hair and was very
Caucasian looking with his pale skin. My brother introduced
us. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits.

I think the first thing that made a serious impression on me
about that first meeting was when Jimmy talked about the boys
who lived in the corner house next to his. It was a neat
looking, little house with a low chain link fence around the
front yard, a nicely mowed lawn and well cultivated flower
beds and shrubbery with a shady tree in front. Jimmy said to
watch out for the boys who lived there because they were
really ba-a-ad. Having never met Jimmy before and being a
child, together with the fact that he seemed an amiable enough
boy, I decided to trust him with the things that he said.

We were looking toward the house across the street and I
saw a very pretty, teenage girl walking in the front walk
towards the front door of the house. She had bouncy, medium
length, dark brown hair and she smiled at me with a big, nice
smile showing her white teeth. Then she went into the house.
Jimmy said that once she went out on a date with a guy on
Saturday night and he didn’t bring her home until the next
morning. I had to think for a moment about what Jimmy was
trying to imply. With the tone in his voice it sounded like he
was trying to put this pretty girl down. I liked her. I wasn’t
going to pay attention to what Jimmy said.

After this we had made our way to the gravel and dirt
driveway of Jimmy’s house. Suddenly a younger boy came
out of the house on the other side of Jimmy’s. He had medium
brown hair and came running up to Jimmy like a happy puppy
excited about meeting new friends. Jimmy said, “This is
John.” Jimmy then promptly started hitting John over the head
with a rolled up newspaper he had picked up from the
driveway. The poor boy ran away crying back into his house.
I was horrified at what I had just seen. Jimmy simply resumed
his conversation and invited us into his house to show us
around.

At this point I suppose had we been a little older and more
experienced in life we would have seriously started to wonder
about Jimmy. However since we were charged with the
euphoria of something that is so important to children at that
age, making a new friend, together with how nice Jimmy acted
towards us, we accepted his friendship. We went with him into
his house, met his mother and accepted his hospitality.

It wasn’t too long after this that one Saturday my brother
took me along with Jimmy to meet another friend of theirs on a
long trek, miles away, beyond St. John’s school. This boy was
named John, too. He was in the same grade as my brother and
Jimmy. He had brown hair and was tall like Jimmy. John had
a nice, big house with a very large yard and an apple orchard
adjacent. He took us out in the middle of the orchard. It was
cool and pleasant under the shade of the apple trees. John had
very short hair like a crew-cut and stood up very straight. He
actually seemed slightly taller than Jimmy. John was the kind
of guy who wore buttoned sweaters and sometimes would wear
a turtle neck dickie under his shirt. He was very conservative
looking. This was the mid-sixties era. John seemed like an
intellectual, scientific looking kind of a guy. He seemed
almost a bit aristocratic in the way he spoke. Walking back
toward his house John pointed out his tree house in the back
yard. It wasn’t like our tree house in our back yard which was
just a wooden platform in the tree limbs made of scrap wood.
John’s tree house had plywood walls and a roof. John had
electricity and a television in his tree house.

We went into John’s house and Jimmy and John suggested
that we play a board game called Risk. They wanted to be on
one team and have my brother and me be on the other team.
Not knowing any better we agreed. It didn’t occur to us at the
time that Jimmy and John knew how to play the game and we
didn’t.

In this game there was a map of the world and various
armies in different colors with equal numbers of pieces. Each
team member received two armies and the world was divided
evenly between the two teams with an equal number of
countries. At the beginning of the game each team was
supposed to distribute its armies across all of its countries.

My brother and I logically assumed that we should
distribute our armies as evenly as possible in all the different
areas to protect against attacks. John and Jimmy to our
surprise left the minimum of one army in most of their
countries and massed the bulk of their armies in a few areas.
We soon found out why. Everything was decided by the roll of
the dice but besides the roll of the dice odds were taken into
account based on the number of armies engaged in each battle.
So therefore the roll of the dice could be in our favor but the
odds in terms of the number of armies could be so
overwhelming that we would still lose the battle. While we
were losing armies they were gaining armies. We of course in
our turn attacked only their countries that had minimum
protection and kept gaining countries while they were only
losing one army at a time. It wasn’t long that we had control
over most of the world but had lost most of our armies. The
armies we had left were thinly spread while Jimmy and John
had armies massed in a few areas. The tide of the battles
turned completely against us as the odds were so high against
us that we soon were losing every battle. Even when it was our
turn to attack we were faced with battles we couldn’t win.

At this point we wanted to just quit and end the game. John
and Jimmy said that we couldn’t and that we had to finish the
game. We finished out the game to satisfy our new found
friends but we were reduced to a state of total demoralization.
Even when I asked again to quit the game they were insistent
that we had to finish the game. I couldn’t help but wonder
what kind of people are these? If they had wanted a good
game they would have had an inexperienced person on the
same team with someone who knew the game. Instead they
wanted to crush and dominate. They weren’t interested in a
fair game.

Continued on:

https://markalbertoyodernunez.blog/2019/08/03/mcarthur-street-episode-two/

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The Spider Lady: Episode Two

Spider Lady

Description: “An older woman tries to cast a seduction spell on a young taxi driver who tries to break her spell with poetry in this creative non-fiction work of horror and mystery.”

The Spider Lady: Continued from: https://markalbertoyodernunez.wordpress.com/2016/04/25/the-spider-lady-episode-one/

The next time I got this call everything seemed as the
previous time. I pulled up behind the old car in the driveway
thinking the same thoughts, that she must drive this car even
though it always appeared as if it never moved. I walked along
the front porch to her door, the dark green, waxy leaves of the
vines to my right. She asked me to come in the same as before
and I waited on the same couch with its ornate looking
cushions as she went to get her checkbook.

As I looked about me, seated on the couch, examining
everything very critically I thought that nothing was worn,
everything seemed perfect but everything seemed old. The
horrible smell came to my nostrils again. The smell kept
growing stronger. I wondered where the smell had been
before. I looked at the open sheet music on the piano. I
thought to myself that the music I was looking at must be
weird, depressing, classical music. I realized everything was
set up. Everything that was happening was well planned. This
was only obvious.

I kept smelling the smell, trying to analyze what it could be
and why it was here in this weird and cluttered but pristine
looking place but the only thing I could think of was that it
smelled like Death. It was warm and stuffy. I just wanted to
get outside, away from the smell. She reappeared, wrote out
the check and I was released to go outside.

I walked outdoors. The fresh, sweet, summer night air
seemed intoxicating. It was very dark. I walked along the
corridor with the ivy to my left. I thought I felt more lucid
because it seemed cool compared with the warm stuffiness of
the house when suddenly there was a pale, ghostly stickiness
and a gauzy halo all around in my hair. I was still walking and
reflexively threw up my arms and hands realizing I had walked
right through spider’s webs. I was scared. I walked more
quickly sweeping away spider’s webs from my hair, neck and
shoulders, afraid there might be spiders on me. I swept the
back of my neck and down into my shirt collar. As I reached
the steps I was thinking over and over how it could be possible
that I just walked along that porch and along the same path and
on the way back there was so much spider’s webs. I thought
how could a spider spin so many intricate, gauzy webs so
quickly. The spider’s webs weren’t old and dusty. In fact they
smelled fresh.

As my feet were placed firmly on the pavement of the
driveway I felt young, confident, lucid and virile. I walked
towards the taxi, observing it and walked around the back of it
examining every detail to make sure everything was safe and
normal. Everything seemed safe.

I opened the door of the taxi and proceeded to get in,
stepping in with my right leg and sliding my body on the seat
while my left foot was still on the ground. I reached my left
hand to pull the open door closed after me when I saw it!
There was a black spider, the size of the palm of my hand on
the cuff of my shirt sleeve looking right at me, directly into my
eyes. It wasn’t fuzzy at all but had a smooth body that was
completely black. Thinking without words in an instant
because there wasn’t time to think with words I realized I had
to move left, out of the taxi, for fear of brushing off the spider
so that it would fall into my cab where it would run and hide.
Then it could attack me later as I was driving. I was afraid the
beast would run up my shirt sleeve and attack me. I moved
instantly to my left to push myself up and out of the taxi and to
brush the thing away. As soon as I moved at all to my horror
the large, black spider instantly raced up my arm at lightning
speed, still looking directly into my eyes with a passion
resembling extreme anger. I brushed with hand and was
vertical with all my weight on my left leg, pulling my right leg behind me from the vehicle. The spider had disappeared.

I wasn’t sure where it was. I was convinced it had fallen
outside of the cab as I stood in the now cooler but still warm
night. I got scared and started brushing all around my hair,
neck and shoulders, all over my body and started looking
around me. I decided to be logical and with the interior light
on and with my flashlight I inspected everywhere to make sure
the horrible beast wasn’t inside my cab. Still not sure, I pulled
the cab out and resumed my night shift. No spider attacked
me. I left the interior light on for awhile.

Continued on:

https://markalbertoyodernunez.blog/2019/07/24/the-spider-lady-episode-three/

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The Spider Lady: Episode One

Spider Lady

Description: “An older woman tries to cast a seduction spell on a young taxi driver who tries to break her spell with poetry in this creative non-fiction work of horror and mystery.”

The Spider Lady

I was a young cab driver, twenty-eight years old, and had been driving taxi for a year in town when I became acquainted with a woman of about fifty years of age. She was a taxi customer. She called for deliveries of beer and cigarettes. Invariably when I got this call it was in the late afternoon when I was first starting my shift and it was still sunny out. She would come to her open front door with the screen door closed which she pushed open. Then she would take the merchandise in the brown, paper bag. She had her check book handy and wrote out the check for the merchandise, delivery charge and a gratuity. Normally taxi drivers don’t take checks but the veteran cab drivers and dispatchers assured me that her checks were always good. I noticed that when I got the call and went to deliver the goods it was always still daylight but when I turned away from her front door to go back to my taxi the night had fallen and it was dark.

An older, sedan car was always in her driveway and except for the paint being slightly dull it seemed in almost mint condition. I would pull my taxi into the driveway behind the car. I walked up the three concrete steps and along the concrete slab, front porch that ran along the front of the house until it came to her front door under the overhanging roof with the trellises of vines along this narrow corridor.

She would appear at the screen door and open it to take the beer and cigarettes and pay me. One day when she appeared at the door and it was already getting slightly dark she stood facing me and she was wearing a see- through, sheer black top. She definitely looked about fifty years old and was a plain looking woman but her breasts looked surprisingly firm, big and good. When she opened the screen door with her checkbook and pen in her hand instead of putting the paper bag aside as usual she bent down very slowly in front of me to place the paper sack on the floor. She said so she could write her check. As she was bending down slowly in front of me her large, firm breasts hung down low behind the black sheer. She slowly rose to stand facing me again, a smile on her face. I smiled back at her. She wrote out the check for the merchandise and delivery fee. She obviously wanted me to look at her firm, large breasts. When she gave me the check she then bent down slowly in front of me to lift the bag up. Then she slowly stood back up in front of me. She seemed to want to keep talking to me but I thanked her and left. Once again it had grown quite dark out. As usual it was a warm evening. It was always a warm evening when I made these deliveries.

The next time I brought her delivery the events were exactly the same. I pulled into the driveway behind the car that never seemed to be moved from its spot. Yet it had no weeds growing beneath it, no cobwebs. It was never dirty and seemed well maintained. With the middle class, stucco home in a neighborhood where property values had greatly increased everything seemed quite respectable. Once again, as it seemed suddenly to start growing dark she was leaning over in front of me, breasts naked behind the black, sheer, bending down to lower the sack of goods with her large breasts hanging down in front of me. Then she slowly rose to face me to write out the check.

The next time I got this order things went differently. It was a little earlier in the afternoon. There wasn’t the feeling that it would get dark soon. When she came to the door she was dressed normally, average for her age and she seemed rather plain looking I thought. She invited me in to sit down on a couch that was beneath the front, living room window. It faced inward into the room and I waited while she went to get her checkbook. Sunshine seemed to be spilling everywhere from the front window and the back window of the living room opposite me that faced out into the garden in the back yard.

As I sat on the couch with its intricate woven pattern that was meant to have a gold and silver embroidered look to it and I saw other small couches and comfortable upholstered chairs about in the clutter of this living room I noticed the luxurious cushions all around me and about the room on couches and chairs. There was artwork and books and a small, dark brown piano directly in front of me with open sheet music that looked like classical music on the music stand of the piano. I was very aware that everything this woman was doing to me was meant to impress me.

Then I noticed the smell. At first I tried to ignore it and think positive thoughts but as I looked about the room with its artistic and intellectual pretentions and in the warmth and stuffiness the smell kept feeling more odious and I could not ignore it. I tried to think what this smell might be. All I could think of was that it smelled like Death. I had never smelled a smell like it before but the only way I could describe it was to say that it smelled like Death to me. Then she reappeared and wrote out the check with an included tip and things seemed normal again. As I walked along the front porch from her door I noticed that it was still light out but already near the horizon it seemed there was a trace of the purple of dusk. The sun had just dipped behind the adjacent neighbor’s garage.

Continued on:

https://markalbertoyodernunez.blog/2016/05/12/the-spider-lady-episode-two/

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The Dream: A Tale of Horror

Vulture

 

I was sitting on an old-fashioned, wooden, park bench under
a shady tree on a green, grassy hillock with my old, long,
black, cotton raincoat bundled up next to me on the dark,
wooden slats of the bench. I felt in a state of relaxation and
wanted to lie down on the lawn of the college underneath the
tree. And so I laid the long, black coat on the green grass to lie
upon it, the green grass and buildings of the college ahead of
me in the sunshine under the blue, afternoon skies.
As I did so a middle-aged bum, younger than myself, with
shaggy, black hair and beard and wide-open, wild-looking,
coal black eyes, dressed all in black with a long, black raincoat
who was looking into my eyes and stroking his beard came up
to me, talking to me and making no sense. I crooked myself up
on my elbows. He was barefoot. I said nothing in reply to
him. He retreated to lie down ahead of me and slightly to the
right on the grass and fell asleep.
Young adults began gathering to sit on the grass and
socialize. Young men gathered to the right of me where the
green lawn rolled down into a crease between the hillocks. It
was a drainage that in turn rolled downward behind myself and
the tree. The young people kept gathering on the lawns. At
that moment I knew there was to be a concert in front of the
buildings ahead of me which there was no sign of as of yet.
My older brother appeared, standing at my left side, as I
reclined with the upper part of my body propped up from my
elbows on the ground. We talked and then he said he was
going to watch the concert from his car in the parking lot
below. He walked down the hill behind the tree. I turned to
look over my left shoulder below to see him start his car and
move it to the closest, inner circle of the parking lot to watch
the concert from there.
Meanwhile the young men to my right, some sitting, some
standing, were beginning to have a lively conversation. Three
more young men arrived from down the hill and were standing
with their backs to me. They engaged in the conversation. The
conversation was lively and all the young men were smiling
and in a good mood. I stood up and walked to the right a few
steps, to face the young men who were several feet away.
The young men had begun to talk about having illnesses
and the drugs they were using to treat themselves. They
mentioned pharmaceutical sounding names of drugs that I had
never heard of. One young man who was standing and facing
me was wearing a tight tee shirt and straight leg, blue jeans.
He had very short, light colored hair. He said he was taking a
drug called Biopronyl. I looked at him and at his stomach in
amazement because he had mentioned that he had an
abdominal illness. He was muscular and in good shape. His
face was a little round and chubby so that his eyes were like
cheerful, little slits because of his big, closed mouth smile. He
was looking into my eyes. The young men talked with
enthusiasm like college students about technical subjects with
their pharmaceutical terms.
I walked back up the hillock to stand where I had previously
been lying down. Then two, huge vultures appeared flying low
toward us! They were straight ahead of me and a little to the
right with their black and dark grey, dirty, shaggy, huge
feathers, with their pink-red, long, curved necks and bald heads
with yellow-pale, big, hooked beaks with crooked mouths that
almost seemed to have little smiles. They had piercing but
evasive, dark eyes.
They were among us, one circling counter clockwise, the
other circling clockwise. One was flying to the right in front of
me. Another one to my right seemed to be veering straight
towards me. Then it veered away to continue its circle. Then it
came around again and was flying towards me. It veered to the
right again and was passing very close to me. I got angry. I
punched at it with my fists, the first punch being almost solid
against its sickly, dark feathers, the next two punches glancing.
It flew away, never veering from its path, and circled again.
Then I knew they weren’t interested in any of us and as it
veered directly in front of me again all I could do was watch. I
was now curious. It landed on the ground in front of me. The
other vulture was already on the ground beyond him. The huge
vultures advanced on the lawn in front of me. Then I realized
what they were interested in. “So that’s what they’re interested
in”, I thought. It was the bum lying on the ground who I
thought was asleep.
The huge vultures advanced towards the bare feet of the
bum and began quickly picking away at the grey and pink,
unhealthy looking flesh of the bum’s feet. Then the young
man in the tight tee shirt and blue jeans walked up to the left
foot of the sleeping bum on the ground displacing the vultures
that backed away. Then the young man proceeded to pull out
the toes of one of the feet. The toes came out in long, red-pink
shafts. He poked one of these back into the sickly, soft flesh of
the bum’s foot where it stuck out like a long, thin, raw, pork
rib. Then he jammed all the other shaft like toes back into the
soft, sickly flesh of the foot so they were sticking out in all
directions. He stepped away and let the vultures do their work.
The vultures went directly to the feet again and continued from
there.
I was then standing on the next, grassy hillock to the right
on higher ground. Someone , a gentleman I had been
conversing with, was standing next to me. He was about my
age. Like me he was wearing wire rim glasses. He had a
round, chubby face. He was clean shaven, with very short hair.
He was wearing a pull over sweater and he was, also, wearing
a long, black, cotton rain coat. It was a bright, sunny morning.
All of the people were gone. I looked down at the green
hillock below me where it had all happened. There were no
people. Not a sign of anything that had transpired. Only the
two, huge vultures walking about on the green, grassy mound.

 

This is a work of creative non-fiction. It may seem surreal and fantastic but it is exact reportage of a dream I had. What do you think this dream means?

 

To hear the poet reciting his own poetry: Poetry Readings

If you are interested in this eBook: Amazon or My Book Page