A Boot Crushed Cigarette - An off the wall Fantasy

A Boot Crushed Cigarette - An off the wall Fantasy(L Douglas St. Ours) A BOOT CRUSHED CIGARETTE - AN OFF THE WALL FANTASY


I know this will all sound stranger than weird. But it all started when I was walking home carrying nothing...no pain...no gain...no worries...no groceries...no cash...no grudge...no grip..no stick…no hat to cover my head...no wind to blow it off.

Seemed I trudged miles but I was still skirting the same high blank wall till I came to a break in the brick...for the intrepid a way into the woods, but the people loitering before me dared not venture in preferring to drink and smoke while waiting for a bus perpetually broke.

I hesitated myself before taking the path...following a trail of seeds the pigeons somehow missed.

I swirled forward as if swallowed by a throat...descending to a stream...tip toed over stones...climbed a slippery embankment...the sky a canopy of trees...I looked for what I could not understand...avoiding poison ivy leaves hosting ticks with Lyme disease crowding swamps concealing copperheads dying of thirst pawed by wolves who never howled yet always lurked.

My back against the wall I inadvertently kicked an old corn can...its clatter stopping my tracks...taking note of a once bitten apple which I booted splattering the fruit, bouncing the core out of sight of a picked to death eden...surrendering to fear...giving up hope...stooping under limbs...tripping over roots...needing a place to lay...clearing the webs...yanking the vines...to a sweeping glimpse too far back to hack in Presley's "Heartbreak Hotel" or the Eagles "Hotel California"...Crosby's "Holiday Inn" all gone to Irving's "Hotel New Hampshire."

And the trail turned to sand widening to a beach where emerged what I assumed was a bright and shining mausoleum...an elaborate facade for the rapture lodge...careful on the stairs...I crossed the rocking chair porch...and entered the prune cobbler lobby awash in dim light from no electricity, no bellboys, no concierge, no hand bell to ring, no button to push for an elevator as dead as a tomb.

I could neither hear nor see any guests...so I forced a fire exit door with no alarm and stomped up an echoing stairwell. I was heading for the penthouse suite...which I reached out of breath...the door smashed in...the cratered room already occupied by hordes of pigeons who cooed when my feet shattered glass shards...pigeons coming and going through paneless windows...vainly proud and primping to draw my attention to their Jackson Pollock droppings...streaked, dripped and dabbed from floor to wall...I was holding my nose as they gathered around me seeking some kind of appreciative gesture for their effluent murals.

I was in no mood for shitty art and harshly retorted "YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF BIRD BRAINS! I wouldn't throw you bread crumbs for this crap!" And as they ruffled back their unruffled feathers, I made good my escape down three flights where a mysterious blast sent me through a passage ricocheting off the walls at such speeds...I could see the rest of me trying to catch up to myself in a hallway of pillow cases stuffed with soiled linens and stolen jewelry spread across doors lined in a row sporting exotic nameplates like "Purple Passion Room" next to the "Yellow Mustard Room" followed by the "Black Widow Room" just ahead of the "White Lily Room" though I took the "Orange Blossom Room" where I reclined in soft sweet pulp under curtain rinds and ceiling peels.

I no sooner closed my eyes then a sexy lady sashayed in wearing thigh high patent leather, lacquered hair, tennis ball tits, and gumball eyes with worms for eyelashes. I wasn't too tired for this sort of service so I invited her fruit to share in my pulp...suggesting we shutter the window...lock the busted door...remove our clothes...then get under the sheets...and pretend we're in a barn...so we could roll in the hay.

But instead of taking me in...she gave me a rub...and I caressed her in turn...putting me to sleep massaging the head that houses my brain...till she brought me to vomit...causing her to laugh so hard she started kicking her legs...knocking my butt right off the bed...sending me out the window like a baby out of the womb...skyward bound until I fell to the hole in the wall ground...landing between a half bent bottle cap and a boot crushed cigarette.
Becoming just another dried out seed...for those pigeons to swoop on and feed.


by L DOUGLAS ST OURS
August 2011