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Scantily Clad Press, 2009

Portions of RURAL RADIO have appeared in Octopus #8.

My humble farmer, here I am, what’s for dinner?

I would rather clean the Aegean Stables than eat another strawberry shortcake without you.

And of course you don’t even have to move your feet when you finish eating. My word!

When there was a need to put on the dog, when I wanted to impress some special friends…we ate on newspapers. I have it on good authority,

three desiccated flies and a cockroach fell in the soup. Jamboree Jones, my heart skips a beat. But I digress, as Kipling would have it.

A pox upon them, play more of the Bone Song!

The hair is longer, and I thought it would tickle you or get your goat to have me as a neighbor. You put me to work getting your wood in. If you want to know how

to get up early, buy a cow.

Why are the doctors unable to heal the situation?

Indeed the old time music had me dancing around the kitchen. Drop down if you need to.

Those stupid shoes are going to ruin more feet.

People who don’t wear shoes don’t have trouble with their feet. Double woe, I was enjoying a pancake.

That was the day Hezekiah Prince wrote in his diary that he helped frame it up.

If the monkey is not blowing the bugle, you have stopped at the wrong house. Sex notes from around the world:

in rural Nepal, fathers are being paid in piglets not to sell their daughters into servitude.

Once he gave up the cookies, the pom-poms got small. Lil’ Abner is still the boy for Daisy May. Watch out for those clowns. Where are the clowns? I’m a locksmith, I make keys.

People have to break up or people have to get drunk. You’re a turkey dinner.

I’m going to exercise with a little rubber ball.

Most of the sunshine will be in the morning.

There is something green growing in the refrigerator.

I paid a quarter for the rise and fall of ancient worlds. So I fell off my Spanish wagon. History is no more

than a catalog. So you think you can only eat one cookie?

If you ever read anything in Dutch, mister, you have read world literature. I read French on the sixth grade romance level, on the next train to Madrid. My chiropractor

tells me to take a golf ball to my next speaking engagement. Just so I could refer to him as, “my long-haired opponent,� I said I came from the blue planet.

I’m humble, what are you thinking?

I dream at night of walking. They think I’m already gone.

I was fortunate to have made your acquaintance at such an early age, but it would be years before I knew that.

He used to fly over the water in a pontoon airplane looking for schools of herring.

They don’t fly around looking for fish anymore. Would you believe that song

was made when you were very small?

Yesterday I asked a well-seasoned grandmother, “Have you recovered from the crossword tournament?” It shows no sign of budging.

If it had not been for the crash, I would be five years older than I am now.

When you see an old woman limping around,

moaning at every step, you don’t think you’ll wear the same shoes. You might not need those shoes, if you don’t need to wear them. In remote mountain areas, women still have their feet bound. Look at your own feet!

If you see a man on a cold day with his hat pulled over his ears, he’s either retarded or a genius.

It’ll probably be on the same day smokers turn up their toes. Pulling the lungs out of ducks, I found my own voice. I love it when he quacks.

What do you think about putting a little metal pin under your skin? Now my friend loves his dog, and my prostate is growing.

I would not think it wise to laugh yourself into loneliness.

Listen deep. Central’s never busy. Iron clicking is the best sound. Will your ghost ever find the

right barn? Let’s stop and hang on the breeze. I resolved the problem

with 18 feet of duct tape. Blame it on my pills. Lets decorate the gingerbread house.

You always say nothing is worth discussing. This morning half way between the sink and the stove I tried.

When he was called to walk

on the golden sands in the sky we cancelled everything.

Did tears run down your cheeks?

Listen closely, because I’m about to confess something I did this morning.

I often underline the words

I don’t know and put them on flashcards. Please speak slowly,

he forgot the insurance in my office. When the power is out, how they going to get the water to flush? She said, “No problem, I’ve got my teeth in.”

Let’s examine the place where the sun don’t shine.

Do you remember the first time you saw the little green dancing rolls of toilet paper?

My neighbor has only one arm and one leg that work correctly. The smell of fresh flowers and garlic

was in the air, but the deep structure remains the same. I was baffled by the jargon of cock dysfunction.

I am completely worthless without my suspenders.

An uncomfortable, ethereal pressure on the intestines, radishes. The deer, our enemy.

Surrounded by hostile strangers, freezing to death beside the Atlantic Ocean.

I’m so numb that when I think

I’m doing what the instructions say, it doesn’t come out right. I wonder what Solomon would have to say about tolerance. At the grange supper I stuffed myself full as a coyote in the henhouse.

When they’re not rattling a sheaf of papers, they sit with folded hands. Because I won’t live long enough

to read Voltaire or Thomas Mann, I’m drinking out of a coconut with the painted toenail refugees.

Women all over the country have discovered their dry skin. I’m the only man in Aroostook to get his head caught

in a hydraulic potato hoist, now I keep a notebook on green vegetables.

I hang onto the banister when I go down stairs.

By taking an axe to old cast iron parlor stoves, and concrete steps, I was manifesting normal little boy behavior.

Be aware of your surroundings. Here’s the big red stop sign. That man has been trapped at Charles de Gaulle airport

since 1988. What is he doing with those wretched bees? I was bigger, smarter than the hornet.

But you can’t drive a car when you’ve been put to sleep by the gas. The bee has honey in its mouth, but a sting in its tail.

Things were made to break unless you were born in 1940. We all stood and sang three verses of the Too Fat Polka.

Last Friday night, and I found myself remembering you can’t give an I.Q. test to an Eskimo.

The beatings will continue until morale improves. I’m not Solomon.

Yes, most evenings will end with the wick. Sounds like baby powder out there.

When it was 10 below zero I watched a lot of television,

listened to the nails in the walls going off like firecrackers. That was a nervous piece of music.

You want to play, then it snows. First you

say you will, then you say you won’t. There can only be one boss on the roof.

How many times do you have to step on a dog’s tail? There is still a lot of animal in each of us.

I have paid my winter dues. Only the rich love snow. Didn’t we meet in Guatemala?

Ever realize that everything is relative?

Other professions require a life of poverty.

And when you get home at night, write letters to your congressman: I have already unleashed the whip. I don’t even have itchy ankles,

so there is no need to whisper.

Don’t go out this midweek

morning—there’s an ill wind out that no one will profit from.

Would you rather have a small fish or an empty platter?

Do not speak ill of the weasels, rat fink. My name means wolf in Lithuanian. Feel the pastoral ambience encroach. I will make up to my distressed Republic by kissing the weasel on camera. Tomorrow we might have been married, but liquor has kept us apart.

I don’t know about you, but I’ll miss the evening. I watched birds arpeggio.

I have been the grasshopper who wasted nine years of his life.

The calf has breached, it’s a done deal. There is skill in all things, even in the making of porridge.

Don’t let my ear become a stranger to your thoughts.

When my friends had gone home I sorted the animals.

We stayed in the Big Pine Motel.

Rather than re-marry in clothes purchased by their deceased husbands, nineteenth

century widows would walk down the aisle in the nude. When I saw the tiny island deer

eating the buds and green leaves off my little apple tress I got so homesick I almost cried.

Would you pick up my apples In the fall? My nose has lost any sensitivity

it once might have had.. When he was called to walk on the golden sands in the sky we cancelled everything.

Got me to wondering while eating my morning rolled oats.

The real gardener would never plant michelmas daisies beneath a monkey puzzle. But at last there comes

a bright sunny morning when you and your spouse

jump out of bed and give each other a knowing smile that says, I wouldn’t go back to Colombia on a bet.

The pink part indicated the amount of territory given. At $7.62 a gallon, red wine beats

any other medicine found in the pharmacy. Would you rather have a small fish or an empty platter?

Tired of sleeping in the park?

Shouldn’t have stole into my house

to make off with my Django records if’n you didn’t want an ass-full

of birdshot. My father was a carpenter one brisk spring day in 1963.

You’ll find many who tell how proud these young soldiers were. If I were a young girl, the first guy with a ring in his nose. But this time I was of clear mind.

Do you have any drugs in your truck? Chocolate releases 17 devils in my stomach. So cold I saw a rooster going across the road with a cape on.

Give me a dozen eggs.

A kind of local color, which is the coastal equivalent. Always drink and derive.

I played fiddle in the band

Every society has its own standards for bravery.

I dropped out of scouting

because I didn’t like the socks,

and was always partnered to a girl named Olga. A pint of Sam Adams would help you pass an American History exam. I called JM immediately.

Heed my warnings to beware. You are not apt

to find anything fishy, & this is the trap!

I slurped baked beans,

and thought about my boys in Europe gone a long, long time. I’ll try to be on deck early Kate,

just like any other scholar of the Reichstag. He took out his guitar and played

folk music and she never went back.

Think back. My best friend is squirming.

I cheated this morning.

I sat down at the piano and played the changes. A couple of years later I spotted

a ruby crowned kinglet at my feeder. To begin the story of the Inquisition: divine inspiration. For more details

let’s consult Swiss historian Walter Nigg. It was a domino kind of thing.

Once the attention of the constabulary had been sufficiently obtained the bird never came back.

We don’t need the magazine faces,

we need to find the right knife to slice onions with. Let’s stop and hang on the breeze.

Don’t ride blind.

Bavarians tie baskets of strawberries to their cattle to appease the elves.

Other people have other memories; all we know is what we know.

In the darkness I will grow.

I'm not even sure how old I am.

Don't you wish your mother put her eyes on the light?

We drank the whole damn thing.

This train is a clean train. It don't pull no gamblers or back biters. I want to ride. I said swing.

One morning I was walking along, not much business in the street. A black dog don't believe in sin.

They'll capture you wherever you hide. My heart breaks all night long.

Just called to tell you how I feel. Darlin, we ain't going to Paris.

I'm a child of play. No one grabs the brass ring every time. Yesterday was something I never thought of trying. It's either the core of the earth, or Pittsburgh.

Do you have to tickle it like that?

I felt much of the pain as it began. Dreaming's easy as believing. I'll love you till dawn.

Pick up the tempo and take it on home. I'm half off the wall. Let's get lost. I'm fine as frog hair.

Love is mostly memory. That's a touch I like.

No, we don’t have gandy dancers much anymore. Handguns & high-times. We need the growling minstrel. Yes, most evenings will end with the wick. It's too late to be ashamed. Drop down if you need to.





author of Sweethearts of the

Great Migration (BookThug,





appeared in Forklift, Ohio,

Spell, Octopus, Cannibal, and Can We Have Our Ball Back, among others. He is the co-editor of Tight.

Whit Griffin can often be found at 33째38'25"N, 90째20'50"W. Recent work has appeared in First Intensity and They Are Flying Planes. Wanhope, a

chapbook-clutch of poems, was published by Longhouse in August 2008.

"Rural Radio" by Andrew Hughes & Whit Griffin