You Know What They Say at the Moonshine Cafe (Week 4)

[serpentinejacaranda]

 

at the Moonshine Café

whether you bite the ice or break the bullet,

remember to kick the beans down the road

before you spill the bucket.

as usual, the boss was clear as mud:

don’t cross that sleepin’ dog.

let it lie. when he starts to howl,

I says when he starts to howl,

let him out the back

before he rains up the wrong tree.

or barks at your wooden nickel.

I tried to tune him out.

I was running the numbers

and had miles to go.

he got us all running loads now

accountants, enforcers.

the dime’s in our court now,

and I was sick of beating around the sack.

boss, all cigar and tuxedo tails,

kept talking: every city

has a stairway goin’ down’

to the place where heavy cream

makes a spirit like a heavy dream.

he was almost done: so they nabbed

Louis and Tutboat over in Cicero.

we gotta respond. you fellas

get your heads down

and burn the spilt milk

or cry over midnight oil -

I don’t care what you do

to get ethanol from a stone,

this time, just remember:

early birds catch the fire.

Mongoose: three-pieced,

slack-jawed, pug-faced, asked me,

a penny to burn your thoughts?

I turned and replied:

my drafting teacher

warned me not to bite off

more than the drawing board

and never to cross that sleeping dog where it lies.

he laughed. oh, knock off, humpty dumpty,

your egg is worse than your basket.

throw in the music

before your towel tells a different story,

if you know what I mean.

I didn’t. we took the Packard down

to Kankakee. Mongoose was trying

to talk like the boss again:

a leopard can keep its eyes peeled

to stop you from countin’ our nails,

and before you hit each on the head

BAM BAM BAM

(finger guns with each BAM)

put all your bark in one bite.

I told Mongoose: listen, I’m drivin’.

let’s just get these dreamy spirits

to the safehouse, then our own

dreamy spirits to bed.

***

the next day the boss met us

at the new spot. gather round,

get a taste, now, of your extra mile.

we ain’t grasping at thin ice no more,

but stop tryin’ to make an extra mile short.

no thick, no thin, is what i’m sayin’:

out of the kettle and into the pot.

you got to be be pulling my thunder

if you think stealin’ my grain of salt

is gonna fly. that’s like the rock

calling the place hard.

we got it boss, yeah, we got it.

none of us got it. just tell us

where to go. Mongoose and I

pulled out of the cave and into the night.

on the way to Cicero,

I was thinking through bite and bark

that the dead crow gets beat

before it flies between the cart

and a held horse. hell, now he

had me doin’ it too.

Mongoose was silent,

perplexed, probably buried

under the weight of

convoluted aphorisms.

our headlights illuminated the lane.

o, my countrymen, I thought -

o followers of this convex lexicon -

on our caravan into Cicero,

cold feet gather no lettuce.

these figures were hard to resist.

as if to rescue me,

out from the cornfield a Model T roared,

black, Chicago Police on its side.

squealing a cranked siren

behind our Packard.

it was more bark than bite,

tried in vain to chase us pinstriped hooligans

to the cold shoulder of a country road.

of course we lost the bastards.

back at the smokehouse we all got

elephants in our cap

and fanned the ropes, which fell

like worms from an open can.

DING DING DING!

so we went down before the boss

got there. just to quell the flames,

shoot the steam. lift newspapers

to our faces while a putty-faced veteran

squared off against a featherweight.

Mongoose was querulous:

I heard we might have to throw

the devil’s juice over the side

of a bridge in Waukegan -

you know the one. it runs

over the baby’s bathwater.

the boss arrived between galas,

two pistons on either side of him,

all sunglasses and cigar chomps,

and we knew our reprieve was over.

they found us again, fellas,

he said. time to turn a blue moon

until your belt’s as tight as mine -

let the stones turn where they might.

Comments

[bleodswean]

You just won the whole damn thing. Kit and kaboodle. Lock, stock, and barrel.

[muchtooarrogant]

Ha, "convoluted aphorisms," I like that.

I chuckled while reading because I had a work colleague who used to live in Kankakee. Great name for a town.

Fun entry!

Dan

[halfshellvenus]

whether you bite the ice or break the bullet
I really liked this-- a poem-story told in mixed idioms, so colorful (all sunglasses and cigar chomps) and with a great semi-gangster feel to it.

[legalpad819]

Very clever!

[drippedonpaper]

Your entry is so clever!

This line made me think of "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy":
"throw in the music

before your towel tells a different story,

if you know what I mean."

I really enjoy your writing style. I hope it's ok if I add you?

I am off to, as you wrote: "let the stones turn where they may.." :)

[serpentinejacaranda]

Thanks so much!!!

[rayaso]

This was so much fun! It was so creative -- a poem/story working in all those expressions must have been challenging to write, but you pulled it off. Great entry!

[inkstainedfingertips]

This is a really creative take on the prompt. I really like how you stretched yourself here. The way you mixed all the different figures of speech to create a story/poem is really incredible and outside the box. Really nicely done.

[marjorica]

This is giving me Beat Poet vibes.

[eeyore_grrl]

this is AMAZING.

i love your use of the prompt and the poem? **chef's kiss** someone said beat poet vibes in the comments. they aren't wrong. welcome to the contest!

[xeena]

I love this. It's so clever and has such an amazing lyricism to it. I could "hear" it in my head as a song if that makes sense. Such an amazing take on this prompt!

[alycewilson]

Very creative!

[serpentinejacaranda]

Thanks everyone for all of the incredible feedback!