On Not Flying to Hawaii

I could be the waitress
in the airport restaurant
full of tired cigarette smoke and unseeing tourists.
I could turn into the never-noticed landscape
hanging identically in all the booths
or the customer behind the Chronicle
who has been giving advice
about stock portfolios for forty years. I could be his mortal weariness,
his discarded sports section, his smoldering ashtray.

I could be the 70-year-old woman who has never seen Hawaii,
touching her red lipstick and sprayed hair.
I could enter the linen dress
that poofs around her body like a bridesmaid,
or become her gay son
sitting opposite her, stirring another sugar
into his coffee for lack of something true to say.
I could be the reincarnated soul of the composer
of the Muzak that plays relentlessly overhead,
or the factory worker who wove this fake Oriental carpet,
or the hushed shoes of the busboy.

But I don't want to be the life of anything in this pitstop.
I want to go to Hawaii, the wet, hot
impossible place in my heart that knows just what it desires.
I want money, I want candy.
I want sweet ukelele music and birds who drop from the sky.
I want to be the volcano who lavishes
her boiling rock soup love on everyone,
and I want to be the lover
of volcanos, who loves best what burns her as it flows.

Alison Luterman

1.11.09

Halloween

So every year before Halloween, I have all these great ideas about what I can dress up as. And then every year, I completely bail out. I don't put forth the time or effort to create the elaborate costumes that some people come up with. And I'm always jealous.
I knew this year that I had a costume party to attend, and I had to come up with some costume. I kept trying to come up with someone I could dress up as.
I finally narrowed it down two possibilities. First, Sookie, from True Blood. It would be pretty easy. Black shorts, Merlotte's shirt, Keds, a pony tail, and a bite mark.

But I thought that a lot of people might not know who I was if they didn't watch the show. My second choice was Octomom. Crazy, a hot mess, and babies. I could do that easily. I mean her hair is even nasty looking and dyed.



I wouldn't have to try too hard with this one. So, I found black hair spray color, and eight baby dolls at the dollar store. I looked up all the babies' names, wrote them across their shirts, borrowed a papoose to carry them in, and then sprayed my hair, and lined my lips. The result was a little hard to look at. I caught myself off guard a few times throughout the night when I saw myself in a mirror. A few people commented on my fantastic "wig," while others didn't recognize me at all. I guess I shouldn't go dark.



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