Ryan and Frankie

Ryan Johanssen sat on the newspaper box and cracked his knuckles. He hated when his parents fought. He hated having to take his sister Frankie out with him when they did. What was he supposed to do though? Leave her in there while they fought over who blew all the rent and grocery money on what drugs? Even his slow flickering mind could cast light on the idea that this was no good.

His stomach churned acid. They were going to have to go to the shelter to get something to eat again. He hated scraping and groveling but how else would he eat today? The church ladies always looked askance at him when he walked in. Almost like they thought all he did was walk around looking for free food all day. There was nothing he could do about his size. Food just stuck to his ribs better. That’s what his grandmother always said, but the shelter ladies always looked at Frankie and then Ryan like he was stealing her food. He had never even fathomed such an idea. He had to protect her and keep her fed on days like these, otherwise she would begin to cry and sniffle. If there was one thing Ryan was not equipped to deal with, it was Frankie’s emotions.

It was a long walk to the shelter though. If his parents realized he had taken his sister on that far of a walk they would punish him. Ryan also did not have the tools available to deal with someone being mad at him. His two responses were silence and rage, and neither flew with his parents, especially when they were sober.

They had owned bikes once. Not that they were great, but they were faster than walking, and kept the two from feeling as poor as they actually were. Ryan didn’t really know what happened to them, it was better not to ask. They were probably sold for a few rocks of cocaine while the kids were sleeping.

The kids wouldn’t even have clothes on their backs if it weren’t for holiday presents from relatives and their grandparents. Sometimes Ryan wished everyday was a weekend day and his grandparents were actually his parents.

The soundtrack of his real parent’s argument was indistinguishable from any other: Various yelling punctuated by something being slammed or thrown. Occasionally the cacophony of breaking glass could be heard. No possession lasted long in the ground floor apartment. The sound would die down from time to time. Ryan knew from experience that this was not the end, merely a chance for his parents to catch their breath and find something else to argue about. To enter during one of those intermissions would simply invite punishment of some kind.

It wasn’t so bad when they punished him. He could wait it out. He knew it would be over soon and that someday it would be over for good. What hurt most was when they went after Frankie. She had stopped reacting. He glanced over at her to see how she was doing. She had crawled into the other newspaper box like some feral creature trying to protect itself from predators. The only way that someone could get to her was from her line of vision. Her stare was listless and spacey as it was in times like these anymore. She had her ways of protecting herself, and they were somewhere deep in her subconscious.

Ryan’s stomach churned again. He made a decision, for better or for worse. He coaxed Frankie our of the newspaper box, held down the lid so that she didn’t scrape herself as she got out. He then scooped her up and started walking. She would walk eventually, once she came to and realized they were going somewhere. He just hoped there wouldn’t be too much trouble for them when they returned. Only two more days until the weekend.

Ty Ty the Bitch

Gabcast! Ty Ty the Bitch #1




She was just a blonde
bitch the first time we met
She ran over and grabbed my hand
I hadn't learned her name yet

Her golden eyes looked up to mine
Take me home they said
But I had no home
So I went back to jail instead

Then I heard the stories
Her home life wasn't good
I mused about taking her
After my release, decided I should

She was grateful
Her rear end trembling with pleasure
She held my hand whenever she could
The length of her kisses was without measure

We share our pasts in common
Both raised to fight, to win
But we would rather just love
Forgetting our past sins

She's always disappointed when I must go
She sighs and hangs her head
But inside she knows
Soon I will return and we'll run to the bed

Where she'll leap right in
Her hands busy in play
Her body telling me she loves me
Her panting telling me all she cannot say

Until I figure out she smells like shit
Once again she's been rolling in flowers
Delicately I pick her up, holding her away from me
And take her to the bathroom for a shower

The Pardon by Richard Wilbur

My dog lay dead five days without a grave
In the thick of summer, hid in a clump of pine
And a jungle of grass and honeysuckle-vine.
I who had loved him while he kept alive

Went only close enough to where he was
To sniff the honeysuckle-smell
Twined with another odour heavier still
And hear the flies' intiolerable buzz.

Well, I was ten years old and very much afraid.
In my kind world the dead were out of range
And I could not forgive the sad or strange
In beast or man. My father took the spade

And buried him. Last night I saw the grass
Slowly divide (it was the same scene
But now it glowed a fierce and mortal green)
And saw the dog emerging. I confess

I felt afraid again, but still he came
In the carnal sun, clothed in a hymn of flies
And death was breeding in his lively eyes
I started to cry and call his name

Asking forgiveness of his tongueless head.
...I dreamt the past was never past redeeming:
But whether this was false or honest dreaming
I beg death's pardon now. And mourn the dead.


This poem affected in a couple different ways. Obviously, it speaks of death and the fear of those who are dead coming back to repay us for the ways we wronged them in their life or their death. The boy who is ten is worried that he neglected the dog, left him alone too long, and that he may have died because of it.

I also liked the contradictions the poem presented in the last two stanzas. Even though a dead dog is rising from it's grave, the green glows a fierce and mortal green. The flies intolerable buzz instead becomes a hymn. Death is breeding in his lively eyes.

I related to the fact that as children, we don't understand, tolerate or accept death. The first death is always the strangest. How could a pet or a relative simply be gone? How could our parents, who can fix everything, be unable to make this right? Why would a being who created our world and who is all powerful let this happen to a soul that we wanted to keep around?

Then the author tries to come to grips with the idea in the last few lines when he says I dreamt the past was never past redeeming... I beg death's pardon now. And mourn the dead. The author humanizes death ( as many of us try to do) in order to understand it. He asks forgiveness from death itself for his childhood transgressions against it. Maybe because he fears his own death someday.

This poem jumped out at me. I've lost alot of relatives and pets over the years. I've never really been a fan of death. Now as I grow older however, I try to show death some respect so that I may be treated well in my own death. It doesn't make any rational sense, but there it is just the same.