Thursday, November 24, 2011


We laugh and make jokes about the stockings and me.
I say, “They’re holding me together.”
He says, questioning me as if I’m not telling the truth or maybe I don’t know, “They’re holding you together?”
“Yes, holding me together literally,” I repeat.
We both laugh hysterically hardly able to catch our breaths
bursting as though about to explode
We act like this is the first time we laughed at this.
Our laughter is like a rhyme held together by glue and impending time.
 “They’re holding me together,” I repeat and again he repeats after me, “They’re holding you together, “ and again we laugh hysterically.

It is better to laugh than cry. Sometimes I cry and laugh at once because of the absurdity of life. Don’t try to anticipate the unexpected. It can’t work. It’s a joke on me just like my father before me. Tears stream and peals of laughter burst through at the same time. I laugh so hard I cry and cry so hard I laugh. Maintaining mirthfulness merriment helps me get by with a little help from my friends.

Life plays jokes while I dance through with songs in my head. The fatuity is not futility. I remain hopeful to a new cause. Each joke has its own device; No more criticizing –I pray that way – if I refrain so will they. One crazy white Jewish poet is one of the 99 percent – they’re moving everywhere, like a silent storm creating a new reality, I struggle to see the light, make wrongs right with the rest of the 99 percent.

I love how they squeeze me tight, expand my sight, I don’t fit it with the left or the right, helps me feel more strong & erect.
“They’re holding me together,” I tell my dentist.
My dentist replies, “It’s good for your circulation.”

Another friend asks, “Doesn’t it hinder your blood flow?”
“To the contrary,” I say, “They improve my blood flow.”
“The elastic band on the stocking’s top, I mean, doesn’t that cut off your blood flow?”
“I wear them all day – all night and they don’t bother me.
They’re keeping me together.”
 “Wouldn’t it be better if you wore pantyhose up to your waist?”
“No, my pelvis likes to breathe and be free,” I say, “I prefer these even if later in the day the elastic on top feels slightly tight but that’s only least ten hours at least. So soft tender cotton caresses my thigh.”
“Oh,” she replied, “If I had to wear them I’d wear the other kind.”
You have no idea I thought in my mind’s eye I didn’t say out loud.
“OK,” I say out loud, mind on overtime to report, create a retort resort to.
don high-quality blue workman’s gloves with smooth rubber fingertips and palms
I stretch and pull them, almost pure skintight up to my thighs.
My legs enjoy the ride. Umm… Umm.
Holding my craziness and me together forever whenever.