Living on the Scandinavian streets have humbled her. No Christmas cards with a 20 spot anymore. No trust fund from Mom and Dad. All the money vanished like the last spider of vodka, like a dropped bottle of beer. She could go to a shelter by herself, but she chooses life on the streets in the brutal winter to be with her Swedish boyfriend. Love is lunacy--sometimes frozen. Two dead friends last year on a mad moonlit night. Human icicles on the Iowa City streets.
One time while drunk, her and I stole the neighbor's canoe. We had her little black dog with us. I dubbed him, Senator Ted Kennedy; probably because we were all drunks, (not the dog) I don't think... We wrestled the canoe into the Iowa River, and immediately proceeded to tip it over. The Canoe sank like a bad bet by Hunter S. Thompson. We could've easily drowned, but we laughed our asses off, choking and splashing, except for Teddy, who swam for Boston.
You talk about Frozen Love .. this is so cool, indeed it is chilling, colder than perma frost and I loved every word of it (please feel free and or able to substitute the word refreshing where I use the word chilling above) .. Regards to you and your pen .. Neville
Such an element of danger to this poem. She gave up so much. It is chilling, the whole situation, but underneath it all I felt a spark of warmth. Reminded me of that film. Love in a cold climate.
You talk about Frozen Love .. this is so cool, indeed it is chilling, colder than perma frost and I loved every word of it (please feel free and or able to substitute the word refreshing where I use the word chilling above) .. Regards to you and your pen .. Neville
Thomas W. Case was born in Oxnard. He has published 3 volumes of poetry. The Bullfrog Dreams of Flying, Artichokes, Avocados, and Van Gogh, and Seedy Town Blues. He has won several poetry contests. Hi.. more..