when mermaids call us

 when mermaids call us
          by lucky loudmouth luciano

rivets falling from the sky
blasting out his nether eye
madness must in great ones go
marks of sadness marks of woe
sailors round the world may throw
lines of travel thick and slow
but none do there embrace I know
though ackerman has taught us how
we slide through this world and end
but then we see from whom we’re sent
He gives us very little hope
to go on when we lose the rope
the short end of the stick is fine
as long as there is cheery wine
made sweet as lemans kind as terns
far as hades fine as ferns
free me Lord to see the truth
that in a grain of wheat lie doth
the farmer’s daughter never yet
mermaids call lest we forget
we never hear them they call kind
we hear them when we wish to find
and not when we are called
grant me the wisdom Lord to hear
grow me the ears, Sir, and the cheer
to give them credit when it’s due
i have the worst time and that’s true
so if You should per chance to read
a book a month about the need
to send more cash to foreign lands
don’t blame the crazies they’re not bad
we wish to name the ones who fail
so we are laden with the grave
and dreadful burden of the bond
that children get

Wilma yelled at the neighbour to get out of her vegetable garden. He obliged with a tip of his hat and said, 
     “So how are you today, Miss Fundy? He had been walking past and noticed that the tomatoes looked pinkish. Normally, they spent much time in each other’s gardens helping to weed, to edge, to plant, to prune and in all ways keep the gardens spruce. Ronpick—odd though his christened name—seemed to Wilma in every way ordinary and normal. She appeared to him the same way. The two figured each other lucky to have the other for neighbour. 
    Ronpick had recently won a little money on a lottery and no longer needed a job to make his payments. He lived independently now of paying work and could do as he pleased (as we are want to say of those who grow up privileged). He gave generously to his family members less fortunate than himself. This largess spilled over into Wilma and George’s lives, too, and this very week he had purchased a section of lattice work for them and set it up in the far corner of the yard where the sun shone brightly and gave Wilma a spot to sit and read.
     Wilma voraciously read fiction. 
     “Ever read the story of Gilgamesh?” she asked Ronpick as he worked at the row of tomato plants. They were already high as his waist, though it was only mid June. They were hung with clusters of green fruit. Wilma often sat in her chair and read passages to Ronpick as he worked in her garden. He had not, and she proceeded to read the story of where Gilga  is assailed by those six sailors intent on robbing him of his sword and ring. When she had read several pages, she paused and asked Ronpick what he thought of the narrative style. He grunted, interested, but enjoying her reading. She began to read again and soon got to the place where the giant yells out to Gil that his (the giant’s) hunting dog has been found dead and someone must pay the penalty. Then she read also where the giant falls to the ground and Gilgamesh leaps forward and cuts off the giant’s head with that beast’s own sword. Then he kneels and thanks the gods for giving him the strength to vanquish his enemy.. Wilma put the book down and rose to fetch tea.
        Ronpick and she sat in the bower and partook of cinnamon buns and tea. They looked at each other fondly. Ronpick said, “Wilma, you are yourself a garden!!” And she blushed with pleasure and fear. 
     “What I mean is that pea vines and cucumber blossoms have nothing on you. You shine with new growth, and flowers are your ears and mouth. When you speak, gladiolus bud and open. I am your gardener and will behold you till you can be harvested.” She writhed under such great praise and stood to go, but he restrained her, gently putting his hand on her lithe arm. 
     “What you say is true,” she said. “I am a garden, and I do resemble flowers, as I can tell each morning when I look in the mirror after my shower. The scent of my hair and the look of my cheeks, pink from the hot water, are not easily parallelled in the natural world. Yes, I am not fearful. These are gifts I have been given for some reason. I only need somebody to discover what that reason is.” With that she bent and kissed her admirer on each cheek and left him, trailing the scent of apples in the air. Ronpick turned to the garden and worked another half hour before returning home. He would rest for a while. He did that, lieing on the couch till the clock called to him that it was time to get ready and make lunch. Outside he heard the sound of children shrieking and laughing in the school playground. They had finished their bag lunches already and were intent on enjoying the half hour of fun before having to go inside once more.     
     “Oh, children,” Ronpick said, and turned  on the television to watch the news.                              
       .