Showing posts with label Donal Mahoney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Donal Mahoney. Show all posts
Nightmare
By Donal Mahoney
- -
I used to dream
in black and white
but now I dream in color.
Blood is red and real
puddling on the pavement
not some shadow
from the past.
The further back I go
the more the blood puddles
becoming ponds
becoming lakes
becoming oceans
suddenly a giant seiche
foaming across the sidewalk
throwing me back
to where I have to go
to find the hand
that held the knife
decades ago
when the blood
began to flow.
I'll tell the bastard
after all these years
it’s easy to forgive
harder to forget.
The time has come
to pray before
all is said and done.
- - -
Donal Mahoney spent two years as a caseworker in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago, circa early 1960s, with 458 families in two high-rise buildings. Fantasies like this are the result.
By Donal Mahoney
- -
I used to dream
in black and white
but now I dream in color.
Blood is red and real
puddling on the pavement
not some shadow
from the past.
The further back I go
the more the blood puddles
becoming ponds
becoming lakes
becoming oceans
suddenly a giant seiche
foaming across the sidewalk
throwing me back
to where I have to go
to find the hand
that held the knife
decades ago
when the blood
began to flow.
I'll tell the bastard
after all these years
it’s easy to forgive
harder to forget.
The time has come
to pray before
all is said and done.
- - -
Donal Mahoney spent two years as a caseworker in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago, circa early 1960s, with 458 families in two high-rise buildings. Fantasies like this are the result.
Dying at Midnight
By Donal Mahoney
- -
Two big attendants
in white coats are here
to remove my remains.
My son called the mortuary
after Murphy said I was gone.
The doctor, a good neighbor,
came over at midnight, found
no pulse and made it official.
I could have saved him the trip.
I knew I was gone.
My wife's in the kitchen
crying with my daughter
in a festival of Kleenex.
I told her I was sick
but she didn't believe me.
She thought I was faking it
so I wouldn't have to go
to her mother's for dinner.
I don't like lamb but
her mother's from Greece.
Lamb shanks are always
piled on the table.
Stuffed grape leaves I like
and she'll make them for
Christmas provided I start
begging at Thanksgiving.
Every Easter, however,
it's another fat leg of lamb,
marbled with varicosities
and sauced with phlebitis.
Right now I'm wondering
who'll win the argument
between the two angels
facing off in the mirror
on top of the dresser.
The winner gets my soul
which is near the ceiling,
a flying saucer spinning
out of control.
I want the angel
in the white tunic
to take it in his backpack.
The other guy in gray
looks like Peter Lorre
except for the horns.
- - -
Donal Mahoney spent two years as a caseworker in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago, circa early 1960s, with 458 families in two high-rise buildings. Fantasies like this are the result.
By Donal Mahoney
- -
Two big attendants
in white coats are here
to remove my remains.
My son called the mortuary
after Murphy said I was gone.
The doctor, a good neighbor,
came over at midnight, found
no pulse and made it official.
I could have saved him the trip.
I knew I was gone.
My wife's in the kitchen
crying with my daughter
in a festival of Kleenex.
I told her I was sick
but she didn't believe me.
She thought I was faking it
so I wouldn't have to go
to her mother's for dinner.
I don't like lamb but
her mother's from Greece.
Lamb shanks are always
piled on the table.
Stuffed grape leaves I like
and she'll make them for
Christmas provided I start
begging at Thanksgiving.
Every Easter, however,
it's another fat leg of lamb,
marbled with varicosities
and sauced with phlebitis.
Right now I'm wondering
who'll win the argument
between the two angels
facing off in the mirror
on top of the dresser.
The winner gets my soul
which is near the ceiling,
a flying saucer spinning
out of control.
I want the angel
in the white tunic
to take it in his backpack.
The other guy in gray
looks like Peter Lorre
except for the horns.
- - -
Donal Mahoney spent two years as a caseworker in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago, circa early 1960s, with 458 families in two high-rise buildings. Fantasies like this are the result.
The Bully, the Psychopath, Libby and Lorraine
By Donal Mahoney
- -
Fred was a bully who always bothered Lenny on the way to school. Fred was four years older than Lenny. One day Lenny told him that when he grew up he would kill him. Fred laughed and probably didn't expect to see Lenny that night, twenty years later, when Lenny waited for him in the alley next to his garage.
As usual, Fred got home around midnight from his work on the second shift. He lived in a different neighborhood by then but Lenny kept track of him because he knew it was simply a matter of when for Fred.
When Fred got out of his car, Lenny said,
"Hey Fred, remember little Lenny, the kid from grammar school."
Fred said he didn't remember Lenny and that's when Lenny swung the machete his grandfather had brought home from the Pacific after World War II. Then he stood there and admired his work, smiled and watched Fred's head roll a few feet like a bowling ball.
In the morning a milkman found the head and the body and the story was in the papers for weeks as people wanted to know who did it but Lenny couldn't tell them. They wouldn't understand that it was simply a matter of a bully paying the price for what he had done years earlier to Lenny.
The only person Lenny ever told about the murder was a girl he had spent a lot of money on, Libby. It was their first date even though they had known each other for years. He didn't even get a kiss good night and that bothered him but he didn't say anything.
Libby really didn't think Lenny was telling the truth about killing some guy with a machete. He was always exaggerating about one thing or another and Libby thought this was just another one of his tall tales. He was probably just trying to act like a big shot.
Lenny knew that Libby had never enjoyed good health, living as she did with a congenital heart disease. But he was afraid that she might some day call the cops and tell them about Fred getting it with the machete. The cops keep good records about stuff like that.
Still concerned that Libby might tell the cops, Lenny asked her out for a second date and when she went to the powder room, he put a dose of strychnine in her coffee. When Libby complained about feeling sick, he took her right home and didn't even try this time to get a kiss good night.
Libby's mother found her dead in bed the following morning. The family was very upset but it was not an unexpected event what with Libby's history of poor health. The family buried her without much ceremony after the doctor signed the death certificate. The cause of death was listed as heart disease.
It was a year before Lenny dated anyone else. Then he met Lorraine, a waitress at a bowling alley. He liked her and asked her out and she said yes. After dinner and a movie and a few drinks at Lorraine's apartment, Lenny told her all about Fred and the machete and then about Libby and the strychnine. He loved the look in Lorraine's eyes as he rolled the stories out. Finally Lenny finished his fourth martini, leaned over and whispered to Lorraine,
"And now the question is, what should we do about you."
- - -
Donal Mahoney spent two years as a caseworker in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago, circa early 1960s, with 458 families in two high-rise buildings. Fantasies like this are the result.
By Donal Mahoney
- -
Fred was a bully who always bothered Lenny on the way to school. Fred was four years older than Lenny. One day Lenny told him that when he grew up he would kill him. Fred laughed and probably didn't expect to see Lenny that night, twenty years later, when Lenny waited for him in the alley next to his garage.
As usual, Fred got home around midnight from his work on the second shift. He lived in a different neighborhood by then but Lenny kept track of him because he knew it was simply a matter of when for Fred.
When Fred got out of his car, Lenny said,
"Hey Fred, remember little Lenny, the kid from grammar school."
Fred said he didn't remember Lenny and that's when Lenny swung the machete his grandfather had brought home from the Pacific after World War II. Then he stood there and admired his work, smiled and watched Fred's head roll a few feet like a bowling ball.
In the morning a milkman found the head and the body and the story was in the papers for weeks as people wanted to know who did it but Lenny couldn't tell them. They wouldn't understand that it was simply a matter of a bully paying the price for what he had done years earlier to Lenny.
The only person Lenny ever told about the murder was a girl he had spent a lot of money on, Libby. It was their first date even though they had known each other for years. He didn't even get a kiss good night and that bothered him but he didn't say anything.
Libby really didn't think Lenny was telling the truth about killing some guy with a machete. He was always exaggerating about one thing or another and Libby thought this was just another one of his tall tales. He was probably just trying to act like a big shot.
Lenny knew that Libby had never enjoyed good health, living as she did with a congenital heart disease. But he was afraid that she might some day call the cops and tell them about Fred getting it with the machete. The cops keep good records about stuff like that.
Still concerned that Libby might tell the cops, Lenny asked her out for a second date and when she went to the powder room, he put a dose of strychnine in her coffee. When Libby complained about feeling sick, he took her right home and didn't even try this time to get a kiss good night.
Libby's mother found her dead in bed the following morning. The family was very upset but it was not an unexpected event what with Libby's history of poor health. The family buried her without much ceremony after the doctor signed the death certificate. The cause of death was listed as heart disease.
It was a year before Lenny dated anyone else. Then he met Lorraine, a waitress at a bowling alley. He liked her and asked her out and she said yes. After dinner and a movie and a few drinks at Lorraine's apartment, Lenny told her all about Fred and the machete and then about Libby and the strychnine. He loved the look in Lorraine's eyes as he rolled the stories out. Finally Lenny finished his fourth martini, leaned over and whispered to Lorraine,
"And now the question is, what should we do about you."
- - -
Donal Mahoney spent two years as a caseworker in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago, circa early 1960s, with 458 families in two high-rise buildings. Fantasies like this are the result.
It's All in the Wrists, Said Ted Bundy
By Donal Mahoney
- -
The others, of course, are more rabid than I
but less apt to show it.
Whenever I strike, I never romp off.
I stand with the wrist that I've snatched
from the lady locked in my teeth
as I wait with a smile for the wagon.
As one of the few wrist-snatchers
still on the streets of Chicago,
I make all of my rounds in old tennies.
I dive for the purse hand, give it a whack,
and sever the wrist without slobber,
then stand like a Vatican Guard
with her wrist in my teeth until
I am certain I have no pursuers.
In my dreams every night I can see
all of those women whose wrists
I have had in my teeth.
They stand at their bus stops
like Statues of Liberty,
shrieking and waving their stumps like flares
as I wait for their screams
to bring to a frieze
the patrol cars glowing
in the middle of the street.
- - -
Donal Mahoney spent two years as a caseworker in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago, circa early 1960s, with 458 families in two high-rise buildings. Fantasies like this are the result.
By Donal Mahoney
- -
The others, of course, are more rabid than I
but less apt to show it.
Whenever I strike, I never romp off.
I stand with the wrist that I've snatched
from the lady locked in my teeth
as I wait with a smile for the wagon.
As one of the few wrist-snatchers
still on the streets of Chicago,
I make all of my rounds in old tennies.
I dive for the purse hand, give it a whack,
and sever the wrist without slobber,
then stand like a Vatican Guard
with her wrist in my teeth until
I am certain I have no pursuers.
In my dreams every night I can see
all of those women whose wrists
I have had in my teeth.
They stand at their bus stops
like Statues of Liberty,
shrieking and waving their stumps like flares
as I wait for their screams
to bring to a frieze
the patrol cars glowing
in the middle of the street.
- - -
Donal Mahoney spent two years as a caseworker in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago, circa early 1960s, with 458 families in two high-rise buildings. Fantasies like this are the result.
Boysenberry Eyes Awhirl
By Donal Mahoney
- -
A Caseworker's Nightmare
In a corner of the room
scribbles of loose yarn soar,
interweave and dive
like coasters at a carnival.
At dusk rats slither from the drain
and barrel through the room
stirring atom puffs of dust
beneath the paper sprung
tongue out from each wall.
Tails wound tight, the rats
skate their figure eights
between the table legs and swirl.
They pause to supper on salami bits,
gherkin nodes, crusts of ancient bread.
At dawn, with boysenberry eyes awhirl,
they belly back and leap atop the sink.
Popping sounds announce
the drain has called them home.
- - -
Donal Mahoney spent two years as a caseworker in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago, circa early 1960s, with 458 families in two high-rise buildings. Fantasies like this are the result.
By Donal Mahoney
- -
A Caseworker's Nightmare
In a corner of the room
scribbles of loose yarn soar,
interweave and dive
like coasters at a carnival.
At dusk rats slither from the drain
and barrel through the room
stirring atom puffs of dust
beneath the paper sprung
tongue out from each wall.
Tails wound tight, the rats
skate their figure eights
between the table legs and swirl.
They pause to supper on salami bits,
gherkin nodes, crusts of ancient bread.
At dawn, with boysenberry eyes awhirl,
they belly back and leap atop the sink.
Popping sounds announce
the drain has called them home.
- - -
Donal Mahoney spent two years as a caseworker in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago, circa early 1960s, with 458 families in two high-rise buildings. Fantasies like this are the result.
Albeit of Salt
By Donal Mahoney
Seth and Abigail were a young couple who had run away from their Amish community in Ohio. They wanted to get married and start a new life. After stopping in a number of cities, some big and some small, they found themselves in San Francisco on a Sunday morning in July after riding many a Greyhound bus.
Seth and Abigail had some legitimate concerns about starting a new life among the English, as the Amish call Americans who are not Amish. They both were still very spiritual but they had decided they would like to strike out on their own. They wouldn't be the first Amish couple to leave the community. Some Amish leave and do very well among the English and others have to turn around and go back home.
Down deep, the young couple thought they could make it once they solved a couple of immediate needs--namely, find jobs and a place to live because otherwise their money would run out soon. Once they had jobs and an apartment they could get married. At least that was their plan.
San Francisco, they agreed, was a beautiful city, much nicer than some of the other cities they had seen between Greyhound bus stops. And it was especially bright and sunny on this particular Sunday morning. It looked like the kind of place they'd like to live.
Walking around, trying to figure out what to do next, they came upon a large park and noticed the start of what appeared to be a big celebration. They saw maybe 200 people, young and old, in tuxedoes and wedding gowns gathered on the grass as if they were waiting for something to happen. There was a big stage in front of the people but no one was on the stage.
"Looks like a big wedding," Seth said. "If we were dressed the right way, we might be able to join in." But that was not the case. Although Seth had left his black hat at home in Ohio and Abigail her bonnet, they still looked very much like a rural couple, not at all like anyone seen very often in San Francisco. But they had heard the city was open to everyone. It would be expensive to live there but they hoped they would eventually become part of the community.
Then Seth noticed something about the big gathering in the park. The men in tuxedoes were holding hands with each other and the women in wedding gowns were also holding hands with each other. Seth didn't understand exactly what was going on but he realized it was something different, probably, even for the English, many of whose customs confused the Amish back home.
"Abigail, even if we were all dressed up, I don't think we'd fit in."
Abigail, however, was truly entranced by the gathering. She knew less than Seth about how the English lived but she knew the people in the park were in a very good mood. She smiled and waved to them a couple of times and they all waved back. She even waved to the minister who walked onto the big stage. He was wearing a dark suit and tie and appeared to be holding a bible.
Seth was getting antsy. He figured they ought to be moving on so they could find a place to stay for the night and then get ready to look for work on Monday morning. He figured he could handle the grill in a diner and Abigail would make a good waitress, what with all her experience feeding long tables of Amish men after their day in the fields harvesting crops.
"C'mon, Abigail. Let's get going. We've got things to do."
Abigail started walking with Seth, even though she really wanted to stay and watch the people in the park get married if that indeed was what they were going to do. She and Seth had walked about half a block when Abigail stopped and let go of Seth's hand. She turned around and looked back at the people in the park. She had never seen anything like it. She just stood there, immobile and mesmerized.
Seth figured if he kept walking eventually Abigail would catch up with him. She knew less about life in a big city than he did and he didn't know all that much. But Abigail never caught up with him. At the end of the block Seth turned around and saw that she was still in the same spot, with her back turned, watching the ceremonies in the park. She looked frozen in time.
It's a long story, all that happened that day and afterwards, with Abigail and Seth. And some people have a hard time believing how it all worked out.
About a week later Seth got on a Greyhound bus and went back to Ohio alone. He hadn't been able to find a job and ran out of money. He had never talked to Abigail again after she had stayed to watch the people in the park. Eventually, two men and two women had come out of the park and had carried Abigail back with them into the park so she could be part of the fun.
Unlike Seth, Abigail never went back to Ohio. In fact, she is still in San Francisco and can be found every day in that park. There is no question she is now a pillar of the community, albeit of salt.
- - -
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.
By Donal Mahoney
Seth and Abigail were a young couple who had run away from their Amish community in Ohio. They wanted to get married and start a new life. After stopping in a number of cities, some big and some small, they found themselves in San Francisco on a Sunday morning in July after riding many a Greyhound bus.
Seth and Abigail had some legitimate concerns about starting a new life among the English, as the Amish call Americans who are not Amish. They both were still very spiritual but they had decided they would like to strike out on their own. They wouldn't be the first Amish couple to leave the community. Some Amish leave and do very well among the English and others have to turn around and go back home.
Down deep, the young couple thought they could make it once they solved a couple of immediate needs--namely, find jobs and a place to live because otherwise their money would run out soon. Once they had jobs and an apartment they could get married. At least that was their plan.
San Francisco, they agreed, was a beautiful city, much nicer than some of the other cities they had seen between Greyhound bus stops. And it was especially bright and sunny on this particular Sunday morning. It looked like the kind of place they'd like to live.
Walking around, trying to figure out what to do next, they came upon a large park and noticed the start of what appeared to be a big celebration. They saw maybe 200 people, young and old, in tuxedoes and wedding gowns gathered on the grass as if they were waiting for something to happen. There was a big stage in front of the people but no one was on the stage.
"Looks like a big wedding," Seth said. "If we were dressed the right way, we might be able to join in." But that was not the case. Although Seth had left his black hat at home in Ohio and Abigail her bonnet, they still looked very much like a rural couple, not at all like anyone seen very often in San Francisco. But they had heard the city was open to everyone. It would be expensive to live there but they hoped they would eventually become part of the community.
Then Seth noticed something about the big gathering in the park. The men in tuxedoes were holding hands with each other and the women in wedding gowns were also holding hands with each other. Seth didn't understand exactly what was going on but he realized it was something different, probably, even for the English, many of whose customs confused the Amish back home.
"Abigail, even if we were all dressed up, I don't think we'd fit in."
Abigail, however, was truly entranced by the gathering. She knew less than Seth about how the English lived but she knew the people in the park were in a very good mood. She smiled and waved to them a couple of times and they all waved back. She even waved to the minister who walked onto the big stage. He was wearing a dark suit and tie and appeared to be holding a bible.
Seth was getting antsy. He figured they ought to be moving on so they could find a place to stay for the night and then get ready to look for work on Monday morning. He figured he could handle the grill in a diner and Abigail would make a good waitress, what with all her experience feeding long tables of Amish men after their day in the fields harvesting crops.
"C'mon, Abigail. Let's get going. We've got things to do."
Abigail started walking with Seth, even though she really wanted to stay and watch the people in the park get married if that indeed was what they were going to do. She and Seth had walked about half a block when Abigail stopped and let go of Seth's hand. She turned around and looked back at the people in the park. She had never seen anything like it. She just stood there, immobile and mesmerized.
Seth figured if he kept walking eventually Abigail would catch up with him. She knew less about life in a big city than he did and he didn't know all that much. But Abigail never caught up with him. At the end of the block Seth turned around and saw that she was still in the same spot, with her back turned, watching the ceremonies in the park. She looked frozen in time.
It's a long story, all that happened that day and afterwards, with Abigail and Seth. And some people have a hard time believing how it all worked out.
About a week later Seth got on a Greyhound bus and went back to Ohio alone. He hadn't been able to find a job and ran out of money. He had never talked to Abigail again after she had stayed to watch the people in the park. Eventually, two men and two women had come out of the park and had carried Abigail back with them into the park so she could be part of the fun.
Unlike Seth, Abigail never went back to Ohio. In fact, she is still in San Francisco and can be found every day in that park. There is no question she is now a pillar of the community, albeit of salt.
- - -
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.
