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Talkin' Freewrite Flammable Blues
by Diane E. Dees
Woke up this morning in a Restoril fog
With a synapse lapse in cerebral smog
And by the second dose of caffeine I wished I'd stayed fuzzy
The anchor morons were headlining Tiger because he
Doesn't give a damn that women aren't allowed
To play in the Masters' though the same bigot crowd
Kept his father and his father off the greens for years
That California girl was dead, they said, and the dread fed fears
Of Hispanic men who lurk around schools
Then they took a short breath and went on about fools
Who say that the market's surviving
I checked my SEP, it just keeps diving
Into depths that are chilly but it's silly to go on
And on about it, when it's such a big con
And no stripes are set out for the suits at Enron
So I put on my makeup and I would have looked cute
But the lights went out then the morons went mute
The computer whined off and the air went dead
And I ran from the dark house with a far from cool head
Late to a session to fix someone's depression
And I knew fate was messin' with me when I saw empty
On the gas gauge face and I had to race
To the place where I buy my Shell and all I did was a half-tank fill
When I lifted the handle out of the tank
The safety spring broke and I bathed in and drank
A couple of gallons of overpriced fuel
My eye turned red and I started to drool
My skin was stinging, my skirt was soaked
I flushed out my eyes and started to choke
And the E.R. staff said to fill these out please
And we're awfully sorry about how this place reeks
Must be that we've got some chemical leaks
They gave me more papers, then shot me for tetanus
Complained of the vapors and shone beams in my retinas
I heard them all talking about me and stalking the halls
While they sprayed with Lysol
And they offered to trade me some scrubs for my clothes
But I didn't think I would look too chic in those
And I said it's not bothering me but it seems to have you upset
So just get over it
And they lined up and smirked just like they'd never seen
A woman come in soaked with gasoline
Then the doctor went out to get drops for my eye
And I sat on exhibit just tryin' to live it down
But he didn't come back soon so I
Just nodded and smiled as the white coats passed by
And it turns out the eye drop dispenser had crashed
Had to repair it, that was so rare it was weird, had to bear it
And next thing you know, an hour had passed
Drove to my house, stuck my clothes in plastic
Two showers later I smelled like the last chick
To leave a long shift at Aamco, damn slow
A strong whiff was drastic
Doc said light a match
I'd go up like a Roman candle
Gas pump's unlatched
'Cause there's a scandal 'bout the handle
©2002 by Diane E. Dees
Diane E. Dees is a psychotherapist and writer in
Covington, Louisiana. Her short stories, essays and
commentaries have appeared in many publications. Diane
and her husband, Orvin, are the webmasters of
princesscafe.com, a virtual rock and roll
restaurant. Diane's recent misfortune at a Shell
station plummeted her across the boundaries of genre.
See more of her work at DED Space.
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