Tuesday?s Daffodils

Tuesday’s Daffodils: Soliloquy of the Prolix Madman

- For 6 weeks, Tuesdays were the day that poet
Betsy Sholl visited the Maine Correctional Center.
For a thinking man, that blessed reprieve was
a touch of madness.

Welcome to the long-ass nightmare…

It was Tuesday -- there was no other reason
to be entering the antiseptically white room...
Tuesdays you entered -- the rest of the week you didn’t
(everybody knew that)
so it was Tuesday and everybody was entering…
it was time after all -- morning and snowing and
it was about time – it’s always about time
and to spite the snow she brought us flowers…
that wasn’t surprising -- she was always doing things
like that and because it was nice nobody trusted her…
you didn’t trust anyone that was nice and had keys
she had keys and was nice
was there any other way to look at it…
(of course not)
but that didn’t stop her…

It was Tuesday and it was snowing
and she brought us flowers…
it was a fucking miracle -- and it was not to be trusted…
(she had keys don’t you know)
they were obscenely yellow things
that seemed to punctuate the drab grayness
of the place -- the flowers not the keys…
it was obvious something wasn’t right
after all how do you punctuate
the drab grayness of a white room…
that was my first clue something was afoot in Denmark
and there was the smell of rotten eggs to boot…
that was my second clue -- this wasn’t Denmark
and the smell of rotten eggs was from the mill
slowly polluting the river in the next town…
(or was it the next town after that)

So it was Tuesday and it was snowing
and she brought us flowers
despite the fact she had keys and didn’t need to
and we didn’t trust her in Denmark
especially with rotten eggs
or the decaying offspring of anyone else…
(I knew this and was on my toes)
at first we blinked the way you do when you
step into a bright light -- a bright light?
was this a gift or some kind of slow electric shock…
(I knew the answer to that)
call on me -- I know the answer!
experiments on prisoners
was something looked on most favorably
by the government -- it made sense
to the bureaucratic menageries that freemen
elected to lead us into the new century...
it was the only way to open doors…
(but I know you know that)

Prisoners were inexpensive and totally expendable
and prisoner experimentation was to be rewarded…
there were funding programs
and grants and ever-increasing quotas…
this was totally diabolical -- to disguise electric shock waves
in the veil of a daffodil
it was amazing -- it was frightening…
simple little yellow things
designed to send electrical impulses to our brains
but to what end…
(that was troubling)

We cautiously entered the room…
I could tell everyone was equally aware
of the sinister plot that was waiting to ensnare us
it was fucking obvious -- it was obvious
by their determination not to notice
which again reminded me of how very clever
we were -- except one or two of us
that were totally expendable
and therefore inexpensive…
of course we never knew which ones those were…
(but you and I know and that’s all that matters)

So it was Tuesday and we were busy not noticing that the daffodils
were some plot by this diabolical chick from Denmark
that was passing herself off as someone who had keys
and was able to pick flowers when it was snowing
and make them smell like rotten eggs
even though we hadn’t had eggs for quite some time
because of the antiabortion laws
enacted to insure replacement of
the totally expendable and inexpensive among us...
I just couldn’t figure out how she plugged
the goddamned things in…
(but it didn’t matter)

I knew I was being frontally bombarded
with electrons and neutrons and ions
and protons and other stuff
that was printed in the monthly digests
that were so rabidly read by her ilk...
(I read them too)
the DC and Dell and Marvel publishers
were no strangers to inquiring minds like mine…
so we sitting there waiting -- being silently bombarded
and feeling our little frontal lobes doing a slightly cosmic
dance and prance and slow soft shoe
ignoring the fact that we were having our eggs fried
and they smelled rotten because they were from Denmark…
it was a good thing she was a better poet
than she was a cook -- except for alphabet soup...
it must have been the words she ate
(but you and I know that)
which was why we didn’t have to let
each other know we were thinking the same thing…

These goddamned yellow daffodils were dangerous
which is why none of us touched them
except this one dude -- but he’s weird anyway
and probably didn’t notice the millions
of megawatts or kilohertz or whatever frequency
those little yellow dandies were broadcasting on…
we knew it was some sort of broadcasting device
‘cause why else did she keep saying they looked like telephones…
and old-fashioned ones at that…
she had to have some dark deep hidden reason for saying that
because she had keys and was wearing the special orange badge
that said she was okay and we weren’t -- besides
she was cooking our eggs or baking our brains…
(or whatever else it was that they asked her to do to us)

I know you know this is all true -- I can’t be the only one to notice
that the weird dude’s eyes had become
a slightly fuzzy shade of electric blue
and he’s the only one that dared to actually touch the daffodils
while they were broadcasting -- cause and effect
touch the stove while she’s cooking and she’ll burn your fucking eggs
(which is what they do in Denmark)
so we were sitting there trying not to notice
that the flowers were slowly bombarding
our brains with electric shock and she kept talking about
goddamn yellow things turning into antique telephones…
we fooled her by trying to look busy
writing about decapitating daffodils
in the public’s eye the way Peter Schaeffer did
and coming up with lines like
“it’s amazing how they look like daffodils… lovely!”
except the dead guy called them orchids
but that doesn’t matter cause he’s dead and can’t correct us
even though we’re here to be corrected...
(it says so on the fucking sign: Co-wreck-shun-al Center)

I don’t know but it seemed to fit…
it was our minds -- our minds were slowly turning to shit
being fried and sautéed by these diabolical little yellow things
that were painted an obscene shade of yellow
and she kept smiling and talking about turning them into telephones
so we could call Denmark about the rotten eggs…
it wasn’t right -- it wasn’t right to test us
like some demented animal…
(there were laws against that damn it)
and I was going to report her
use the yellow phones to call the SPCA
or the AMA or the KKK or whoever else it was
in the alphabet soup that we ate
that took care of such things…
that would serve her right -- unlike the eggs
that were slowly baking inside our heads…

I would bust her ass and rat her out
then she’d lose her keys and spend her vacations sitting
in a silly white room looking at obscene yellow flowers
that would slowly do an electric frontal lobotomy on her…
zap – shazam – flash -- and all that stuff
and a light bulb appeared over my head
(turning it on I realized something)
she was sitting in the same room
and wasn’t wearing a rubber suit…
the silly little bitch was baking her butt
right along with our eggs
crack and cackle -- boil and trouble
burn baby burn and cauldron bubble…
she was getting zapped -- they were her flowers
and she was getting zapped…

So it was Tuesday and it was snowing and
I realized I must be a slighter faster thinker
than everyone else ‘cause they continued not to notice
and were talking about the flowers
and making believe it was just another Tuesday
(but you and I knew better)
and the daffodils kept transmitting
and she was getting zapped
and I just sat back with a silly grin on my face
‘cause I knew this wasn’t Denmark
and I wasn’t crazy enough
to eat eggs in prison...