Ask Aretha, the Queen of Soul
Dear Aretha
The tree in my landlord’s garden groans
with luscious red apples I find
irresistible. My boyfriend says I should
find a hobby, maybe take up weaving or
herpetology. He makes excuses when I ask
to meet his family, brings his work home
naming all the birds of the air, beasts
of the forest, and fish of the sea. Is this guy
worth it? Gamine in Gondwana
Gamine
Dump the chump yesterday, bake yourself
a pie and set it on the sill to cool. Snag
yourself a deity with some of that low
hanging bait.
Dear Aretha
I’m career military, a man of average height, endowed
with modest ambition. My wife, my lover, my muse
is never satisfied. For her, an empire, but all I ever get
is nag, nag, nag. I’m planning a short excursion east
through the steppe, destination, a city renowned
for hospitable summer weather, but nights, they say,
can be rather chilly. I’m loath to pack too much,
but my love insists I bring a sweater. What say you?
Peevish In Paree
Peeved
A Parisian lover? Why go do a fool thing
like leave? I smell major daddy issues. Pack
warm socks and long johns for the long haul.
Dear Aretha
After a protracted, somewhat messy struggle
to disengage from a distant, insufferably paternalistic
benefactor, our board of directors nominated me
to head the organization. It’s a company town,
and they sweetened the deal by naming it after Moi,
but I’ve been having this dream. Forty-four men
queued up behind me stretching back to the horizon.
Some good, others not so much. All white, thank God,
although Forty-Four does look dusky shadowed against a sun
setting in a hellish lake of fire. Forty-Five I can just make out
before I wake up in a cold sweat, heart hammering
Yankee Doodle Dandy. I blame these infernal
wooden teeth. Do you know a good orthodontist?
Sleepless In Foggy Bottom
Foggy B
Get your hands on some melatonin, try
tincture of CBD oil on those tender gums,
and go on back to sleep. Forty-four and done,
honey, ain’t a bad run.
Dear Aretha
Let’s just say I’m the creator of a popular
comic strip still in universal syndication,
drawn, inked and penned by yours truly all
these years. I was always doodling in school,
working up characters in order to put them
into impossible situations, crowning kings
when I wasn’t killing off innocents, dangling a life
line only to reel it in again and again, heroes
and villains, martyrs and fools, all for
my own amusement. Imagine my surprise
when the thing took off––now don’t get me
wrong, the houses, cars and women, well,
you of all people––but lately I’ve just been
phoning it in, recycling old bits, relying
on shtick while yearning to be taken seriously
as an artiste. I’m mulling over an insane
franchise offer from Disney. Should I counter?
Look Not Upon Me
LNUM
Who you think you’re fooling? I know
your work and it ain’t been worth a good
goddamn for Lord I don’t know how long.
It ain’t no Calvin and Hobbes, that’s for sure.
Know what I’m saying? Take the money
and run.
