Poetry
by Pamela Fuller
Mary
Invocation/First
Generation Bush
I
Mary had a little
problem
she didn’t do well in malls.
There weren’t any lambs.
She smelled like dung and straw
and the Revlon representative refused
to make her over.
Poor Mary, Mother of God
bless all the shoppers,
forgive them
for they know not
what whores they all are.
So Mary tried politics.
She gathered Swiss bank accounts.
She gathered manuals
on the joy of extortion,
She pimped,
She took steroids,
She pounded her opponents.
It was good.
She mounted the platform
And spake unto the thousands,
“Go ye unto the hills of Kilamanjaro
and seek your own dung
and lambs and straw,
so that you might do
as I have done.”
It has been recorded in the dead water
buffalo scrolls that Mary was not successful. The
multitudes that showed up that day turned out to be
anti-body odor freaks, thereby given to stoning poor
Mary and thusly she was given bad press.
In her research for government office,
the librarian directed her to b for bathing. Mary
never got past the a’s, stopped at asphyxiate to learn
of a far off city Lost Tangelos.
“Anything to get away,” she thought.
Gently she placed her lamb on a straw bed of the sidecar,
revved her gears and vowed again to make sure her
loincloth was clean, in case she had an accident.
II
As long as you
don’t marry
into the family,
Mary.
She had no thought of marriage,
only that she could rest
without disturbance
on her straw bed.
But, Jesus was born
and then all the kings came to hang
out,
rude shepherds stared at her,
bells started to chime,
cows went berserk
and the press showed up
(if it weren’t for that star
they never would have found the place).
What’s a woman who comes from a fairy
tale to do?
She passed gas and afterbirth.
It wasn’t cool,
but it worked.
Everyone headed for the desert.
Mary sat back,
poured some wine, lit up a camel
and played the harp.
Jesus was sleeping.
With the dawn,
Mary turned in.
She loved straw.
III
Mary was not contrary.
Her cocquel shells were not in a row
And generally things sucked.
She went to visit Peter, but eating
pumpkin turned out to be a real bore,
never mind putting up with his wife.
She wasn’t into rhymes.
She wasn’t into washing on Monday.
She didn’t aspire to jump over the moon.
People kept asking her how her garden
was coming along and they all knew
she was lousy with plants.
Mary was not contrary.
She just didn’t want to get into
this verse thing some
patriarch on drugs had stuck her with.
And now Bush was in charge.
She felt strongly that it was most unfair,
considering she didn’t have to even
get done
to get pregnant,
that if she became with child
she couldn’t choose to not be the holy
mother again,
she might end up with another Jesus,
all hell would break loose in the Middle
East,
the pontiff might shoot himself
and she would have the press on her
neck again.
They keep getting me mixed up with this
other woman.
I like to drink, smoke, and play my
music.
I don’t need any sandle-footed, religious
hippies
to groove with on some looser desert
outside Jerusalem.
But, there she was,
not contrary to what’s been going down
for thousands of years.
And don’t count on Jack in the Beanstalk
either lady.
He’s still going to be in charge of
the Golden Egg,
unless you get off your own and do something
about it.
IV
Mary pulled her
motorcycle
up next to the black oldsmobile.
The three kings were here today,
probably still trying to figure out
how they lost their deity,
mulching through eternity,
hanging at Carmen’s bar and grill.
All Mary wanted was a greasy hamburger
and fries.
She didn’t need any lecture on the black
book
that was welded to the king’s bodies.
Jesus God, they were ugly.
A lot of balls they had telling her
all the time,
she was with odor.
“Hi Carmen.”
She sat at the counter so she could
twirl on the stools.
“What’ll it be Mary?”
“The regular, heavy on the catsup today.”
She knew they were looking at her,
probably had some complaint
about her appearance,
well, piss,
it was hot in the desert
and all she felt like wearing this morning
was a loincloth.
Their fat tits were always
hanging out,
She sported a fine pair of jugs,
Give it up guys.
She started to whirl on the bar room
stool
and as she whirled
her breasts began to grow.
Ho, ho Pinocchio,
you don’t have to lie
to make it grow.
She whirled with great joy.
As she recalled the incident later,
all she could figure was
the kings didn’t like her new perfume
and decided to vacate,
much to their ensuing disaster for as
they passed
the Counter of Bar Stool Whirling,
Mary’s engorged breasts
knocked each one of them
right to the floor.
It appeared they would not be
getting up
for some time.
“Hey Carmen, you want to take these
starlets out of here?”
Carmen motioned to Slab
the Oasis strong arm and presently
the three kings lay in the back seat
of the black olds.
Some caravan.
Mary ate.
Carmen put on a snappy baroque opera,
and prepared pasta,
for the evening crowd.
