Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Clyde and Chester, The Investigators by Chester P. Karrick, Jr.

The following investigative report, Over the Fence They Will Go, is taken from the Chester P. Karrick, Jr. book entitled Clyde and Chester, The Investigators: Fraud, Embezzlement, Theft.  More reports are to follow.
On Monday, April 9th at 7pm, Author Chester P. Karrick, Jr. will be at Friendswood Public Library to discuss some of the investigative cases conducted by himself and legendary Houston private eye, Clyde A. Wilson.
From the Introduction---Chester met Clyde Wilson when Clyde was hired as a full time Security Consultant for the company that employed Chester.  Chester was an assistant director of internal audit when requested to assist the security consultant on a fraud matter that started a working relationship that lasted for many years.
During their work together, Clyde and Chester conducted over 300 investigative and security review cases that resulted in the conviction and termination of many employees.  Fraud of many millions of dollars was uncovered with millions being recovered from employees, third parties, and fidelity bond insurance claims.
The author selected fifty-nine of the most representative investigative cases covering many different areas and types of business…
Readers of a prior self-publication of this book who personally knew Clyde and Chester have suggested that some of the cases included herein might make an interesting TV series.  Tom Selleck was suggested to play Clyde and Danny DeVito to play Chester as the physical resemblances are amazing. Unfortunately, since the first publication of this book Clyde has passed away.  This is the first book the author has written and is now living in Friendswood, Texas with his wife. They have one daughter. Chester is now serving as a business consultant.


Over the Fence They Will Go By Chester P. Karrick, Jr.

While at the same location as the “Paint and Lead Caper” fraud covered in the prior chapter, Clyde and Chester were sitting in their rental car at 7:00 am one morning watching 30,000 employees file through the entrance gate to clock in for work.
A few minutes after seven they noted that several employees were jumping over the fence at the north side of the plant premises.  They counted about 80 employees jumping the fence. Clyde and Chester could only conclude that the employees had entered the plant, clocked in, and were heading up the street to who knows where.  Leaving the car they followed the employees for about six blocks. The employees entered a beat-up-looking building that was owned by a competitor of the client.
Previously at the plant, Clyde and Chester had learned that their client had lost several major repair jobs to the competitor.  The client could not understand how he was being under-bid on the jobs or how the competitor had enough skilled employees to perform an acceptable job.
Clyde and Chester took turns during the day observing the competitors operation.  About 10 minutes before 4:00 pm, they noted the client’s employees were leaving the competitors plant. They headed down the street to their permanent place of employment.  The employees jumped back over the fence into the plant, presumably clocked out, and left the plant.  Thus it appeared that the employees were paid a day’s work by the client and then went down the street to the competitor’s plant, worked all day, and earned an additional day’s pay.
From an unnamed source, Clyde and Chester were able to obtain a copy of the competitor’s employee payroll list. The names on the list were compared to the client’s employee payroll list.  Sure enough, about 95 names were found on the lists.  However, the competitor was paying only about 70% of the hourly rate paid by the client.
The next day Clyde began interviewing the 95 identified employees and after taking signed statements covering their improper activities, the employees were terminated.  While Clyde was finishing with the “fence jumpers’’, Chester began reviewing surplus material and scrap material sales.  
Chester selected one major job he had heard was finished the year before which reportedly had about $10,000,000 of new, unused, surplus steel products left over from that project.  Checks of inventory files and records together with interviews of several appropriate personnel failed to disclose any information relative to the surplus parts.  No one seemed to know, or would admit, knowing anything about the surplus.  No sale of these parts could be found.
As the type of materials left over on that job appeared to be the same type that could be used by the client’s local plant competitor, Chester felt there was a possibility that the competitor was somehow getting the client’s new surplus materials at bargain prices.  If the competitor was getting labor at 70% of the client’s cost and materials at a bargain price, this would explain why the client had lost bids on several major repair jobs.
Since the plant operation generated a lot of scrap material as well as surplus parts, the whole scrap and salvage operation became suspect.  Chester reviewed the available records to determine which companies were the major buyers of surplus and salvage.  It was not until later they learned that most of the scrap yards on the East Coast were reportedly controlled by the mob.
Chester and Clyde starting interviewing scrap dealers in the area to find out how they obtained their client’s business.  In their first visit to a local small scrap operation owned by a man who was reportedly honest, Clyde and Chester introduced themselves and stated their business.  The owner, who was about seventy years old, started bragging about how young he felt.  He said he could kick out the light bulb hanging high over his head. To demonstrate, he stepped back and proceeded to kick the light bulb.  Clyde exclaimed, “Wow, you sure are agile.” The owner grabbed Clyde by the throat and said, “Don’t you cuss me man.” Chester had to pull him off shouting, “No! No! He’s not cursing you, agile means you are quick, nimble and active.” The owner grumbled, “Well, OK then.” Clyde was able to cultivate his trust and received much helpful background information on many scrap dealers in the area.
About 9:00 pm the next night, Clyde and Chester were driving around the area surveying various scrap dealer operations when they noticed a light on in a scrap dealer’s office.  They decided to go in and talk with whoever was inside.  Upon entering the office, a man looked up from his desk and said, “Well, Clyde and Chester. I wondered when you would stop by.” Clyde and Chester looked at each other in amazement, as they had no idea that anyone there would know their names.  The man reached into a desk drawer and tossed a big brown envelope onto the desk.  He paused about a minute, and then reached into another desk drawer and pulled out a 45-caliber pistol, pointing it at them.  He said, “There is $50,000 in the envelope. Then shaking the pistol at them, he said, “Take your pick, which one do you want?” Clyde and Chester looked at each other, then turned and walked toward the door, stating, “If you shoot us, you’ll have to shoot us in the back.” Driving off in their rental car, they knew they were getting close to a big-time scrap fraud as somebody was beginning to feel the heat.
Clyde and Chester then decided it was time to investigate the entire surplus and salvage operation.  Most of the client’s plant scrap was being shipped out by rail car.  The rail cars were pulled onto the client’s weight scale, weighed, and moved out of the plant.  Clyde and Chester reviewed the weight scale procedures.  They noted that inside the scale room, weight tickets were stacked to the ceiling all around the room. They were told that copies of the tickets were kept for years and years in case any question came up about the weight of any rail car.  This seemed ridiculous. Clyde examined the scales and noticed that by moving the scale apparatus with his finger he could print out any weight from zero to 200,000 pounds.  Suspecting that the weight man had some kind of deal going, Clyde took him aside and began interrogating him.  In a little while, the employee admitted that for over twenty-three years he had been shorting the weight on every rail car by several thousand pounds.  For his endeavors, a local scrap dealer left a fifth of whiskey by the employee’s car every Friday afternoon.  The man’s fraud had cost the client thousands and thousands of dollars over the years.
Since the local scrap dealers were taking advantage of the client’s scrap and salvage sales, Clyde and Chester then concluded that the scrap dealers were also fraudulently obtaining surplus materials and parts from the client.  As the client’s local plant competitor was using the client’s labor, Clyde and Chester then surmised that the competitor was also receiving materials and parts from the client.  Chester thought it probable that the local competitor company had inside information on the client’s surplus material availability.  The competitor might be ordering needed parts for repair jobs obtained by submitting lower bids than the client.  Conducting a review of property records at the courthouse, Chester learned the competitor company owned an old building at the edge of town.
Driving by the location at night, they noted bars on all the windows.  The building appeared to be well secured although there were no guards in the area.  Looking through the windows, they observed that the building appeared to be used to store materials and parts.  Clyde and Chester speculated that some of the client’s surplus materials might be inside.  With the assistance from a local investigator, they were able to enter the building.  They found that the building was substantially full of surplus materials and parts obviously obtained from the client.  Chester also found the inventory records covering the $10,000,000 in surplus parts he had previously been looking for at the client’s plant.  The client’s name was still on each inventory card.  It appeared that the competitor had obtained all the parts together with the applicable inventory records.
Suspecting that the client’s scrap and salvage manager had a hand in this matter, they returned to the client’s office where Clyde began interrogating him concerning their suspicions.  After an hour or so of denials, the manager finally admitted to having sold $10,000,000 in new, unused, surplus parts to a local scrap dealer for $70,000.  He knew that the parts were destined for the client’s competitor.  The manager admitted to receiving a used Pontiac worth about $3,000 for making the deal.
As the whole purchasing, scrap and salvage operation was so rotten and mired in fraud; Clyde and Chester were able to obtain a Grand Jury investigation into all related matters at the client’s plant. The yearlong Grand Jury review resulted in numerous indictments and convictions of client employees and local persons involved.  Insurance bond claims were filed to recover the client’s losses.


Wednesday, February 1, 2012

The Book that Changed the World with Mark T. Crawford

Wednesday, February 15th at 7pm at Friendswood Public Library

Mark T. Crawford will speak about the historical and political setting of 17th century England as it pertains to the King James translation of the Bible. The King James Version, known to the world as the KJV, has been a best-seller since its publication in 1611. Mark will also speak about the KJV's lasting impact on the world of literature.
Rev. Mark Crawford was educated at SMU, Dallas and Oxford University before completing his Doctor of Ministry Degree at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary. Mark serves on the Diocesan Commission on Ministry, the General Board of Examining Chaplains and is a member of the faculty in the IONA School for Continuing Education. He now serves as Staff Chaplain at St. Luke's Episcopal Hospital in the Texas Medical Center.
Rev. Mark Crawford's reading list:

"The Book of Books" by Melvin Bragg. Berkeley:  Counterpoint, 2011.

"In the Beginning" by Alister McGrath. New York:  Random House, 2001.

"Manifold Greatness, ed. Helen Moore and Julian Reed. Oxford: Bodleian, 2011.

"The King James Bible - Making a Masterpiece" by Adam Nicolson. National Geographic, December 2011.

"KJV at 400" by Jon Sweeney. Christian Century, July 12, 2011.


The Friendswood Public Library carries The Book of Books by Melvin Bragg. Both journal articles can be found in print or electronic versions through the Friendswood Public Library's Ebsco Journal Databases. See the reference desk for assistance.

Friday, January 27, 2012

Cherokee Presentation at FPL

The library had a full house this Wednesday evening for Larry Pearl’s excellent presentation on the early life of the Cherokee people. Larry provided fascinating instruction on many of the key events in Cherokee and Native American history such as the Iroquois Confederacy, Sequoyah and the Cherokee language, and the Golden Age of the Cherokees, to name just a few. Larry also demonstrated his knowledge and ability with the Cherokee language. Along with an excellent PowerPoint presentation, Larry had two tables full of Cherokee art, instruments, weaponry, and research materials. During and after the Q & A session, many lively discussions ensued with audience members sharing stories and memories.





Saturday, January 21, 2012

The Super Hero by Barbara Ann Carle

Barbara Carle is a published essayist and poet and is a featured reader at Friendswood Public Library's Essay Readings on Wednesday, February 29th at 7pm. Also read Carle's The Red Shoes.


The Super Hero

By Barbara Ann Carle

My oldest son Scott was an archer.  He had a large collection of bows that he purchased on our trips to the flea market in Canton, Texas.  He would often practice in the back yard and of course, whatever Scott was, his younger brother Glen had to be too.  And once Glen decided he wanted to do something he could be quite persistent.  Pretty soon all we heard was “Can I try? Can I try?” Scott began searching for a bow that Glen could handle.  When he found the right size; he began teaching Glen and Glen’s best friend Bob archery. 
Over the next year both boys got pretty good.  That fall Scott took Glen to the Renaissance Festival in Magnolia, Texas.  Scott said three men in their twenties were playing the archery game and they were really bad.  They obviously didn’t know the first thing about archery.  Glen decided he wanted to try.  The three men began to laugh at the little kid trying to shoot an arrow.  With a fair amount of pride, Scott laughed when he described the scene.  “I stood off to one side.  Glen walked up, put down his money and took the proper position.  He pulled back the bow in perfect form and scored three out of three shots.  Those older guys were stunned.” 
One afternoon Scott came to me and said “Mom I think I have a problem.  Glen and Bob came up to my room today and told me they think it’s time I started fighting crime.  They want me to become a Super Hero.  They want me to buy green tights and a green shirt and Hgo out at night with my bow and arrows to catch bad guys.  I tried telling them that I couldn’t do that but they’re convinced I can.  I don’t know what to do.”  Scott was eighteen then and Glen was eight. 
Scott and I had a good laugh.  The thought of him running around Nassau Bay in green tights with a bow and a quiver of arrows on his back was just too funny.  “You have to admit, it’s rather flattering that they’re convinced you can be a crime fighter.”   I couldn’t help adding “Come to think of it, you do look good in green.” 
Poor Scott really was between a rock and a hard place.  Glen idolized his big brother and thought he could do anything.  “I don’t want to hurt their feelings but they just won’t take no for an answer” Scott said.   “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Glen.” 
The next day when Glen came home from school I sat him down and said “So Scott told me you have a plan.  You want him to become a crime fighter.” 
The enthusiasm that lit his face showed me just what I was up against. 
“Yeah, he’s a great archer, Mom.  He can go out after dark and look for bad guys.”
“Well, honey you know he can’t go around arresting people, he’s not a police officer.  The police department wouldn’t want him doing that.”
“There are bad guys out there, right?  You’re a police officer Mom and you go after bad guys all the time.”
“Well yes, but that’s my job and it’s what I’ve been trained to do.  Police officers don’t want citizens running around trying to catch criminals.  That’s what we’re paid to do.”
“So we won’t tell them.  You, Bob and I can keep it a secret.”
“But what if Scott gets hurt?”
            “He won’t get hurt, he’s too good.  You should see him Mom he never misses.”
“I know he’s good but what if the bad guys have a gun?” I asked.
“Oh he’s really fast Mom.  He wouldn’t get hurt.  So will you make his outfit Mom?  He needs green tights and a green shirt, maybe a hat too.  He could be like the Green Hornet.”
I was getting nowhere fast.  I knew Scott was a good archer but I doubted he was faster than a speeding bullet.
“You know Scott is really busy, going to school and working.  He has lots of things he needs to do.”
“That’s why Bob and I will help.  Will you make us outfits too, just like Scott’s?  And then when Scott’s busy, Bob and I can take over.”
“I don’t think Bob’s Mom would let him become a crime fighter” I replied.
“She will if you talk to her, I know you can convince her.”

      I found myself face to face with a major case of hero worship.  How could I maintain the image Glen had of his brother but talk some sense into him. 
“You know Scott starts college in two months, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you know college is really hard, right?”  He nodded his eight year old head.  “Well he couldn’t possibly do his homework, study and work while being a crime fighter, could he?  And you know how much he’s looking forward to going to college.  We wouldn’t want him to fail, would we?” 
I could see his blue eyes cloud with a look of deep disappointment.  I got a dejected “No”. 
Shoulders slumped, he turned and walked away.  At the last minute, just before going through the doorway, he spun around smiling and shouted “That’s OK, Mom.  He can do it on his summer vacation.”

©Copyright – Barbara Ann Carle, 2010

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Library Lines Redux: Volume 4 Issue 10, 2006



Gangly Noir by Matthew Riley


I first saw her through the window of Webster Bicycle Shop. She was leaning gracefully, not unlike, yet wholly different from her inferior replicas. I was 12 and she was a silver and red Rebel BMX racing bike and she shone like the sun. She was all I longed for during the summer between seventh and eigth grade. To quench this longing, I took a summer custodial job at my school in hopes of saving enough money to rescue her from layaway prison. We rode out together, number 13 displayed proudly on her handlebar’s number plate. Throughout the remaining summer days, we bonded over tabletop jumps and high-speed berm collisions. Time and again I lifted her out of the mud smiling through a grimace. Bruised shins and bent spokes only made us stronger. And then she went away. 

How many minutes I stood staring at the spot in the garage where she should have been I do not know. Time’s weight crushed me and I fell without knowing the fall. Days of confused moping ensued and then finally the righteous anger pointing the way to my resurrection. Four of my buddies were over later that day and we set up shop at the scene of the crime. We were the Mystery Gang with five too many Shaggys’, but between us we knew most every creep hiding behind most every hedge and curtain in the hood. Dog walkers were no longer walking dogs but answering a few questions about what they might have seen on the night of the last full moon. Sam covered the 7-11 beat, Mike down by the creek, Yatu and Torren had the north side and my nose kept twitching south of the link. For me, this was real. For my buddies, it was just a fun way to burn the last week of summer.  

Just as my time was running out, we had a break. A friend of a friend knew a guy who had just gotten busted for running a bicycle chop shop out of his parents’ garage. We were there in minutes and to my luck the garage doors were open. The first thing I saw was her number 13 partially visible behind a multitude of bikes and bike parts. As I got a closer look I could see that her handlebars were on a Mongoose frame. Then I spotted her forks embarrassingly clutching a yellow Tuff Wheel. Her frame was sporting a host of Huffy and Redline products. This was a mongrel lot all bent and betrayed. Unsure of my next move, I bought time by pacing the street in front of his house. Then I saw him coming out through the kitchen door into the darkish garage. He was two or three years my senior and thirty or more pound heavier, but my anger was beginning to grow starting in two small, clinched fists. Before I knew what I was doing I was standing in front of the open garage listening with him to the words falling staccato from my mouth, “That’s my bike. There, and there, and there, and over there.” I could see that he had been crying and before he could turn his head back around from where I had been pointing, his tears began to flow again; "Please don’t say anything. I’m already in huge trouble and I’ll have your bike fixed and back to you by tomorrow.” I had no reason to forgive him or believe him, but I did and he came through. Although, she never did feel like she took the berms quite as smooth or caught the same kind of air as before. As time passed, my interest in BMX waned and my fret over her lost capabilities diminished to forgetfulness. In my late teens, I gave her away to someone nearly as enthralled with her as I was then.



Tuesday, January 10, 2012

4 poems by graphic designer and poet Glynn Monroe Irby

Glynn Monroe Irby lives in Brazoria, County, Texas. He carries a Bachelor of Arts degree in history from the University of Texas, Austin, including earlier studies at the University of Houston, the Brazosport College, and Edinburgh University, Scotland, with subsequent graduate studies in architecture at the
University of Houston.  Irby is the graphic designer and co-author of the book, 3 Savanna Blue, the graphic and cover designer of many other books, and has displayed and marketed photographic and poetic art for homes and offices. As a writer, Irby has been published in both the Houston and Austin poetry festival anthologies as well as Sol Magazine, Borderlands Texas Poetry Review, The Spiky Palm, Galaxy Journal, Curbside Review, Poetz e-zine (New York), HIP, and others; Irby has been an invited poet to many reading venues in Texas, is a member of the Galveston Poets’ Roundtable, the Circle Way Poets, the Poetry Society of Texas, the Gulf Coast Poets, and was selected in 2006 as one of the “Bards of the Bayou.”  For many years, Irby has been a manager, buyer, and professional interior planner in his family-run furniture and design business.

Look for Glynn Irby to be a reader at the FPL Poetry Series reading on Wednesday, July 18th at 7pm.  The Friendswood Public Library carries 3 Savanna Blue. Ask for assistance at the reference desk.



Tall Grasses

Can you hear that sound
of tall grasses in the wind,
that sound of decades-hay
before the final shocks are made?
Listen to the whirling overhead
of golden crowns in the sky,
the sound of grain heads
yielding their seeds into the frantic air.
Listen to the sound of shadowy things
harbored inside the bramble,
and that bursting sound of cracking
through unyielded early stems.
Listen to the raging of change
through my soul,
the sound of breaking cane
and the shattering of my secret places
as you clearly pierce the last
of my perimeter reeds
onto the outer boundaries
of my dispersing reservoirs.

Glynn Monroe Irby


White and Grey Dominiques
               — from my father’s farm stories
When night comes, some chickens
go to the woodhouse, others fly
to branches of the apple tree.
Now and then after midnight,
the sly weasel with razor teeth,
quiet on the balls of his feet,
sneaks up along the creek,
slips under the hawthorn hedge,
and climbs the bountiful chicken tree,
takes his pick among resting hens.
Each morning when leaves
are wet with dew and I start
my long walk to the schoolroom,
I watch for blood feathers
in the clover bed.

Glynn Monroe Irby


Sailing Together

Steering our chalk-white catamaran
toward rising constellations,
we slip through the scattered sea
beneath a patterned sky,
leaving the sun in our wake.
Sailing in line with moon-tides,
cross-grain to ghostly grey passages
of young pelagic jaegers, we attend
to combinations of changing
currents and wind direction.
We listen for the cry of laughing gulls
or the whisper of a shore break
as we delight in the exuberance
of blood pressing through our veins,
engage in an echo of emotion,
experience the chorus of heaven,
and the thundering voice of God
in the sudden electric storm-rage
before morning.

Glynn Monroe Irby


Knowing the Tides

She advances straight
into my channel access,
then recedes through
the swelling sluice
toward the open sea
once again.
Still in the morning
her fresh water-beads
collect on the dew-lips
of my over-edging grasses
before slipping back
into the stream.
She’ll then ascend
into the anvil clouds
to flash violently back
into the dark waters
of the open ocean
once again.

Glynn Monroe Irby


More poems by Glynn Monroe Irby:

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Cherokee History, Culture and Language at Friendswood Public Library

Larry Pearl, a resident of League City, was born in Oklahoma and is a descendant of the Cherokee people. He will be giving a presentation that will cover many aspects of early Cherokee life. He will share his knowledge about this important part of our American history and demonstrate how European and Cherokee cultures were influenced and developed over centuries of contact. This will be a fun and entertaining evening for all.

Wednesday, January 25th at 7pm in the Friendswood Public Library Activity Room.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

3 poems by author, artist, and poet Dodie Meeks



Dodie Messer Meeks has poetry in a couple of hundred journals and literary magazines and several anthologies. The Arts Alliance Center of Clear Lake published an illustrated collection of her work, entitled, “When I Got Dressed Again.” She is currently illustrating a children’s book of poetry for the publishers of The Lyric, which she describes as “the only poetry publisher older than I am, which is pretty amazing.”


The Friendswood Public Library carries a copy of Dodie's When I Got Dressed Again. See the Reference desk for assistance.



MARY, MARY


Outside the window of my room
Big creamy plates of bloom
Keep spilling charcoal seeds.
The bees are slurping out there, dazed,
In two hundred proof magnolia
couched in leathery leaves. 

All up and down the block
The neighbors’ lawns
Are clipped formica neat
But my garden
That they can hardly stand
Is all elbows and knees. 

Salvia slavering down the walk
Ivy shinnying up the stalks
Of three kinds of anemone
Rioting as anemone can
Each stem erupting into ten.
That hospital gift gardenia 

We gave a decent burial
Is pop-corned over with bloom
Enough for a funeral or two
Crowding a candelabra of lilies
Budded so aching tight
It hurts to look. 

Those roses that you sent
Claw through whatever this is,
With veins of tattered blue
On international orange.
And I know I never put in
This goofy garlic patch. 

That sad, young, wandering priest
We let sleep on our sofa for a spell
Was a fussy eater. These might be
From the kernels he threw out.
It’s taking on the mint.
Well. You know mint. 

Smells like a candy cane
Has the soul of a virus.
They said to contain it
But don’t tell me
What to do with my darn mint.
So here’s a carpet of that. 

Too thick to get a grip on
But for a leaf or two, for tea.
And here come some caladium
Unfurling burgundy veined with green.
The brass section. Aren’t they
Supposed to come back small? 

Where you are, in London,
Crocuses peek through snow.
In Holland the tulips are marching along
Row on proper row.
Like ads for laundry soap.
But they have that purple scent. 

It’s illegal to let poppies grow
In Greece. But they do, anyway,
Their hairy stems
Claw up through rock
Gasping for a breath of mist.
Boy. It’s moist here all the time.
I can stand in the middle of my house
And feel my garden buzz and seethe
Like mother, yanking on a sequined blouse
To wear to church. Saying whee.
 Whoop de doo, Jim. Whoop de doo.
 It’s just the gypsy in me.

Dodie Meeks


ATAVISM 

We are grown unaccustomed now to trees.

They lean above and breathe a trailing mist

that slides in on all sides. They sway and list.

We urban dwellers stand and stare at these 

as the Apaches did. They neared this mound

and signaled for silence. Quivering, intent

the shadowy riders listened, quickly bent,

slid down, and made their way around. 

They saw the shape embedded in this stone.

We are grown unaccustomed now to these

contrivances of seed, these symmetries

of bark and darkened overlapping cone. 

Was it some sudden silence shimmering

in rotted leaf and spears of splintered light

flickered the green gold sun as cold as night?

Or some large eye, half-open, glimmering?


Dodie Meeks




Advice for the Bride

Dear little ladies with dear little voices
Have ended upended on ant teeming slopes
Or, after a tiff, have been dropped from a cliff,
Or dangled forlornly on slow-turning ropes.

Girls who must have the last word every argument
Have eaten their words in a dank dungeon keep
Or languished in stocks or been fed glowing rocks
Or watched cablevision and given up sleep.

Ladies with tongues far less acid than mine is
Gurgled on guillotines, writhed on the rack.
All that I have to fear—tell me I’m lucky, dear—
Is the dank certainty. He won’t be back.

All my proud sisterhood, swearing you will be good,
Wishing indeed you could be still as stone.
Raise your arm. Make a fist. Swear to remember this:
Grammatical errors are best left alone.

All my proud sisterhood, knowing too well you should
Be ever so careful to leave it unsaid.
No matter what you hear always remember, dear,
Never correct a man’s grammar in bed.


Dodie Meeks
 
 
Other poems and illus. by Dodie Meeks: