Poem: Daly & the daylights

by Ryan Bird, InDigest Magazine • July 6, 2008 •

From his chintz print armchair, Daly
addressed the nightly news anchors.
He spoke in tones which lesser men
might use when muttering instructions
to porn stars. Miriam deposited the
lower half of her body into a nearby
loveseat. She said, ‘Father, I’ve
started a band. We go by the name,
Everyone Dies Alone. I play a set
of authentic, gourd-shell maracas.
Also, I vocalize now. And not just
harmonies, but some thoughts, too.
I’ve become vocal. Do you like
my new haircut?’ Daly re-crossed
his chalk-white legs, & then airily
considered the tops of certain things:
Astroturf, boxes, helicopters. Then
Daly looked down at his novelty
slippers. They were covered in
cartoon cupcakes which were topped
with milky-white icing. The slippers
were a gift. They also left footprints
in the woven carpet. ‘That footprint
is a clue, Father,’ panted Jimmy.
Daly’s son was a huge fan of crime
scene investigations. Jimmy took a
knee between his father & sister.
Then he snapped on a pair of chalky,
white latex gloves. He got chalky white
particles all over his new magnifying
glass. ‘This place is simply crawling
with fingerprints,’ marvelled Jimmy.
‘So, where were you last night, Father?’
Jimmy asked in a businesslike tone.
‘Right here,’ admitted Daly, pointing
at faded footprints. ‘Say, Miriam,’
asked Jimmy. ‘How do you get your
hair like that?’ ‘I shake the maracas
like no one understands me,’ replied
Miriam. Both Daly & Jimmy looked
thunderstruck. ‘Oh yes,’ said Miriam.
‘I vocalize now. Weren’t you told?’

Arts Orbit is a multisource blog about the local arts scene, featuring both original contributions by Daily Planet writers and entries reprinted from partner blogs and online publications.