THE CAT FIGHT

On a balmy Saturday evening the summer before I turned fourteen I was hanging out on the main part of downtown Jimson City which  consisted of five blocks.  It was about 9:00 at night and there was a sizable crowd, mostly farmers, in to buy groceries and get hog feed and such like, with a smattering of residents of the town.  (first time I ever said 'and such like')
I was standing on the sidewalk at the alley with some other idlers when two women approached from opposite directions.  They met at the mouth of the alley, placed their purses on the ground and proceeded to go at each other.  Without a word they pulled each others hair and scratched each other.  They fell to the ground and rolled around on the dusty bricks, hitting and tearing each others clothing.  All this in almost slow motion like an intense silent movie.
By this time a large crowd of onlookers had gathered.
As suddenly as it had started and without a word being spoken they broke it off, dusted themselves off, picked up their purses and walked away in opposite directions.
And I could hardly wait until I could see this again, confident in my youth that this went on frequently and possibly even for my entertainment.  In almost fifty years I have never seen anything to approach it.

I sent this story to a girl I graduated high school with.  She wrote back;  "I remember my dad talking about the fight on Main Street.  He said the women fought like cats and dogs!  He said the people who saw it said they would rather fight a man than those women."

THE SHADOW SAYS:  WHO SAID SMALL TOWNS ARE BORING?

METROPOLIS REVISITED

everywhere

in the city

it cost a pretty penny

to maintain

a standard that only a few aeons before

had seemed attainable

acquire squatters rights

in a decent slum

and the first thing you know

here come the homosexuals

with the quick dart and thrust

of their paintbrushes

obsessive butterfly shades

well  yes  it does look better

but.............

and then the trendy

nouveau riche

bourgeoisie

flatulent parvenu

who discard a twentydollar cigar

into the gutter

after three puffs

because they don't know how to smoke it

inflating rents

driving

the price

of a piece of property

                                                up

past all grasp of reason

of the universal man

real estate developers

quick to exploit

as a buzzard hawk

senses carrion

have vanity pieces

written into the local rag

which would sell

its grandmother

for the price of a barrel of ink

the ghost of herr goebbels must chuckle

when the city "relocates"

the homeless interlopers

as god bows to Mammon

they close the place at sundown anyhow

and padlock the tearoom doors

but the paddyrollers will shoot you

if you don't watch out

and you will not pass go

and they will not go to jail

and they can collect $200

"administrative leave"

and blood will out

while our future

is pissed out upon the street

$100 REWARD

LIONEL

RUNAWAY

SCARS ON BACK AND ARMS

AND PSYCHE

METAL RING IN NOSE

LAST SEEN WEARING

BLACK LEATHER JACKET

WITH PENTAGRAM ON BACK

AND AN ATTITUDE

and the congregants

hire their preachers

to wax so highly

in their chapels

of jesus the redeemer

not a social

activist among them

while the people

cheeer the garish colors

of the gladiators

in their temples

along the platte

and they will all go to heaven

in coral gables

and I will search for new slums

each more scarce than the last

i think of the land

i so swiftly left as a youth

and of the arbor with the sweet purple grapes

the gospel according to saint john

chapter eleven

verse thirty five

                                                            daniel wenger

                                                   2/97

 Re posted from Jan. 12, 2012