Kevin McCarthy's poems, lyrics, plays, essays
Is “Bringing in the Sleeves” adapted from the tailor’s hymnal?
Is it just in the South that folks cottoned to slavery?
Wasn’t the sole Old Testament method of burying the hatchet into someone’s skull?
Jesus was a Nazareth High alum but did he have any higher education?
Is three sheets to the wind referring to a mini-Ku Klux Klan ride?
Weren’t the southern gentry known for the hit song “we are our brother’s keepers”?
Picked up a couple of foreign words who were out hitchhiking
puzzled when they inquired how they could compensate me,
I finally said “two syllables apiece, yes, that would do just fine”
“We only know milky cows” they exclaimed, “no silly bulls”
They disagreed with me that phonetics was a Nokia etiquette app
and that syntax wasn’t the financial result of a Baptist/Catholic merger
Fortunately, our tête-à-tête was set aside for a musical interlude
as we sang a saucy rendition of “you say tomayto, I say tomahto”
One turned crimson when I brought up the basics of conjugation
replying “make nouns, not me, the subjects of your prepositions”
I responded angrily “your synonyms are my antonyms”
as we resolutely failed in developing any lingua franca
Arguing over adverbs being the driving force in commercials
I punctuated my vehemence with “pronouns aren’t for amateurs”
we eventually came to conclude it best to call the whole thing off
and, for a more copacetic journey, we switched to sign language
Why isn’t it unlawful to poach eggs?
I’m Irish so shouldn’t I have become a Catho-holic?
One of my early crushes instructed me to make my arse sparse — did literal me do the right thing by joining Jenny Craig?
I was born minus wisdom teeth — am I a protected class?
Where exactly is it that poetic justice is the law of the land?
Are pain-in-the-ass relatives ingrown ingrates?
I’m still on my John Prine-ish (if that isn’t heresy) binge. Let’s call this a music-less song rather than a poem.
I got a woodpecker in my pants
some mistake it for a fer-de-lance
it makes my legs sway to and fro
although both my feet flatly say no
I’m stuck with a pair of alligator arms
don’t worry, they’ll do ya no harm
And the eyes I own aren’t the same size
On the beauty way, I’ll win no prize
(Chorus) We have our bodies til death do us part
I think mine was assembled a la carte
My disks are each fully fragmented
still in place, yes, but slightly dented
biting into moon pies makes me giggle
when I get up, my thighs they wiggle
I need to minimize my gluteus max
ain’t all diets a personal sin-tax?
lost count adding up my multiple chins
Let’s call it a maximizing of all my skin
We have our bodies til death do us part
I think mine was assembled a la carte
My nose knows what’s fingerlickin’ good
food tasting should be my livelihood
Throughout my boyhood I just misunderstood
Not too many spark plugs under my hood
We have our bodies til death do us part
I think mine was assembled a la carte
You know my toes, they refuse to twinkle
when it come to snorin’ I’m Rip Van Winkle
my pecs been the victim of some kidnapping
I’m a piss poor candidate for chromosome mapping
The few muscles in me are the slow twitch kind
I’m disinclined to ever seek peace of mind
nobodys ever asked me to pee in a cup
cause my human algorithm has never added up
We have our bodies til death do us part
I think mine was assembled a la carte
Maybe this evokes an intermittent John Prine-ish note? A touch of John Callaghan? Possibly Rodney Dangerfield? Ha! Yeah, right. Still rising to becoming a grateful human being.
So please read the following with an imaginary blues riff inserted between each. Or maybe a rim shot.
It might cause traffic to come to a stop and sightseers to gawk
but do wheelchair users ever get challenged to walk the walk?
I feel like a forever party of one and for that I’m seeking a panacea
But luckless me has never even witnessed the face of Jesus on a tortilla
So if it’s Colonel Mustard in the cloister with an ever-burgeoning cross
doesn’t that make all religious dogma just a clueless albatross?
Imagine the handful Jesus was throughout his early teens?
so why did it take him so long to finally spill the beans?
I’m not sure if I’m Saturday night or Sunday morning
it depends on which Mary Magdalene role I’m performing
How does one become not just proficient but good at suicide?
have a body to subdivide like good old Jekyll and Hyde
My favorite band of all time is Lot’s Wife and the Saltines
with hits like “Nazarene Obscene” and “Peron the Argentine”
Were the Apostles truly the first and only fight club?
Is it true their ringmaster was none other than Beezlebubb?
I’m training guide dogs for the atrociously empirically impaired
those savantless idiots who believe Norwegians all drive Fjords
Heading downward isn’t usually associated with anything good
consider the phrase “fall in love”
is this a never-ending nosedive?
what’s are the odds of a soft landing?
can humans tumble upwards?
+++++
imaginary phone call #1
Emergency operator: “911, what is the nature of your call?”
Me: “This is more of a precautionary dialup — I have fallen in love but don’t need stitches and I can’t find anything broken.”
Emergency operator: “Did you lose consciousness sir?”
Me: “What?”
Emergency operator: “Have you experienced any difficulty breathing or voluminous sweating?”
Me: “I just want to be on record for the future. Just in case.”
Emergency operator: “So hardly fallen or fallen hardly, can you clarify?”
Me: “Is this some sort of English grammar test?”
Emergency operator: “Sir, might your head be concussed?”
Me: “I beg your pardon. My sweetie and I do not swear in any manner. I am hanging up now.”
+++++
imaginary phone call #2
Me: “Thanks for answering Ramona. For the record, I wanted to let you know I have fallen in love but I can’t find anything broken.”
Insurance agent: “That’s good news. Let’s see. You chose to fall in love, correct? None of this predestination babble that is so popular now.”
Me: “Correct.”
Insurance agent: “Okay. Therefore, the timing of your decision actually precludes any coverage. You weren’t in love prior to obtaining your health policy, correct?
Me: “I’m not sure of the exact starting point of, as they say, my downward swoon. I think I was in a very “heavy like” when I took out your policy. Would that make a difference?
Insurance agent: “We cover some pre-existing situations but…”
Me: Could this possibly come under some sort of giddy existential descent? Might that make anything resulting cover-able?
Insurance agent: “Remember your policy is with us and not Nietzsche and Camus Incorporated…
+++++
imaginary phone call #3
Me (to my therapist): “My newlywed wife Jenny and I just had a terrible row. She gets so jealous at the smallest thing.”
Therapist: “Give me an example of your conflicts as you know it take two to tango, or even foxtrot.”
Me: “Well, I wanted to go see “Little Women” at the theater…”
Therapist: (interjecting) that’s good, that’s a positive. A shared cultural experience is usually bonding for a relationship.”
Me: “My wife freaked. She accused me of harboring pedophile propensities.”
Therapist: “Uh, remember that Franky Lymon song “Why Do Fools Fall In Love?” Memorize the lyrics. (looking at her watch), Well, well, time flies. You’re two minutes and eighteen seconds appears up. ”
+++++
imaginary phone call #4
Me: “I thought we’d be a couple forever. Now, Deb’s dumped me and broken my heart.”
First Buddy: “Two words: duct tape. Wrap on a heavy dose. Works on everything. Your heart’ll be good as new in no time.”
Me: “No, it’s like my heart has been split with a sharp dagger.”
Second Buddy: “Free advice, date a cardiologist gal next.”
Me: (ruefully) “I gave her my heart so freely, certain it would be treated well.”
Second Buddy: “They say possession is 9/10s of the law. Even so, she didn’t steal it. It’s still yours, even if it’s in pieces, right? No small claims court here amigo.
First Buddy: “Get off and stay off Tinder. I’m sure your parents warned you years ago not to play around with any combustible material.
Me: (To the strains of of Jimmy Ruffin’s “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted?) “So what now?”
The buddies in unison: “Find someone who only packs Cupid arrows.”
Blackened
smudged
crystalline
pristine
cracked
jagged
cob-webbed
transparent
stained (in the good way)
glassy glimpses
soul-peeping
expositions of humanity
behavioral truth-tellers
gatekeepers of light and dark
abbreviated life panes
Windex-demanding
and, sadly of course, evil progeny of Bill Gates
— inspired by a poetry writing class windows prompt
Grace has eluded me.
Damn her.
In my search, I swam the seven seas
rode the four winds
appealed for help from those in the high heavens
hired Sherlock Holmes
inquired with Interpol
lamentably, all to no avail
Grace never responded
all was silence
my pleas and petitions going for naught
my entreaties and beseeching just fading echoes hurtling into the void
On the bright side however, no accusations of stalking have ever been leveled at me
Then came the shocking news.
GRACE MADE AN APPEARANCE!!!!!
But minus me.
I failed without ever being in consideration
But she was of Irish heritage and so was I
Alfred Hitchcock even owned a house here in Scotts Valley
I have qualities so many envy
Settling for the prince of a shrimpy 500 acre monarchy?
Graceless, I am