Haiku #11

grey overcast skies

threat of rain looms in the air

electric ozone

Little Ritual Drawings

There was an area near the back of Children’s Clothing, near Giftware, that the cameras couldn’t see properly. Byron and I were standing inside that dead zone.

‘That old lady.’ I said.

‘Which one?’

‘The one you said was into hoodoo.’

‘You said she was into hoodoo.’ he corrected. ‘I had never even heard that word before you said it. I said she was into voodoo.’

I held up my hand. ‘Let's start over.’ I said. ‘That old lady you said was into voodoo.’ 

‘Yes.’ he said. 

‘I don’t think she is.’

‘Oh, she definitely is.’

‘I find it hard to believe.’

‘No, she is.’ he insisted. ‘One time, she got into an argument with one of the cashiers. That cashier, Linda was her name, she found this little envelope in her locker. It was filled with little weird voodoo diagrams.’

‘Voodoo diagrams?’

‘I dunno what you call them. Little ritual drawings.’

I stared at him. ‘Uh huh. And?’

‘Well, right after that Linda got cervical cancer.’ he looked at me smugly. 

‘And?’

‘Well, you think she just got cervical cancer from nowhere?’

‘It's been known to happen.’

‘Trust me.’ he said. ‘Plus, Katherine in Hosiery lives near her and says her house is really spooky.’

‘Oh, well it must be true then.’

‘Told you.’

‘Why do you think she hasn't used her black magic to fix her cataracts?’ I asked him.

‘Oh those are probably fake.’ he said. ‘So she seems harmless.’

‘Yeah, probably.’

Chicken Pumpkin Soup

I was sitting in the break room when the alleged Hoodoo Lady shuffled in, holding a plastic tupperware bowl filled with dark soup. She placed the bowl inside the microwave, programmed a time, then waited. She watched the soup circle round and round inside the microwave. I had a tuna salad sandwich on rye I had bought from a vending machine. The rye really made it.

When the microwave dinged, she reached inside to pull out her soup. It smelled good. Better than my tuna on rye. ‘Hoo!’ she called out, waving her hands in the steam of the microwave. ‘Lord that be hot!’ Slowly, she shuffled the soup over to the table and sat down.

‘What kind is it?’ I asked her.

She looked at me with foggy eyes which appeared mostly covered in cataracts.

‘Chicken pumpkin, darlin.’ she said, then blew on the soup while stirring it with a plastic spoon.

‘Sounds good.’

‘T’is.’ she said.

She began to eat in silence, though the soup was still steaming like crazy. She was tougher than me. I hate burning my tongue.

‘You have any idea what pretzel is made from?’ I asked.

She looked at me again. ‘Pretzel.’ she repeated.

‘Yeah pretzels, like you eat with beer.’

‘Pretzels made from bread, darlin.’

‘Are they?’ I asked. ‘I thought it might be corn.’

‘No, darlin.’ she said, with a small laugh. ‘Pretzels made from bread.’

‘OK,’ I said, finishing my sandwich and closing the plastic container it had come in.  I stood up and tossed it into the garbage can by the door. ‘Good to know. Thanks. Have a good afternoon.’

‘So long.’ she said, giving it to that soup.

I headed outside for a smoke. She couldn’t be into hoodoo, I figured. If she were into hoodoo, she would’ve fixed her eyes by now.

Voodoo or Hoodoo

‘You need one of those showerhead attachment things.’ said Byron. We were in the break room and I was standing at my locker, changing my shoes. We had to wear shoes which could be shined: Taggs was a classy discount department store.

‘You attach it to the tap, and it has, like, a little rod which stands up from there, the hose and showerhead are attached to that. You can adjust the height.’

‘That’s what I need.’ I said. ‘Baths are depressing.’

‘You’re telling me.’ he said, spreading peanut butter on saltine crackers, one by one, then sprinkling salt on each. ‘Sitting around in your own shit.’

‘Exactly!’ I said, slamming my locker closed and sitting down at the table, across from him. I looked at the clock on the wall. I still had six minutes until my shift started.  

An old woman shuffled into the break room, never lifting her feet from the ground. Her shoes were some sort of soft looking leather slippers. I thought maybe she was afraid they would slip off if she lifted her feet too much.

Byron had been about to say something when she had entered the room, but closed his mouth and rubbed his chin as he stared across the table at me. I had no idea what was going on, so I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. The steady chatter of the customers just outside the break room was a pleasing white noise. No screaming kids were nearby at the moment.

The doors to the break room swished open and closed as the old woman exited again.

‘That old woman.’ said Byron.

I opened my eyes.

‘She’s into voodoo.’ he continued.

‘Voodoo?’

‘Oh yeah.’ he said. ‘Lotsa voodoo in this town. So watch out, they say she hexes people.’

‘You mean hoodoo.’ I said.

‘Huh now?’

‘Voodoo is just a religion.  It’s hoodoo that has hexes and shit.’

He started popping crackers into his mouth. ‘Hoodoo, voodoo, who gives a shit? Just don’t cross her is what I’m telling you.’

I watched him eat for a bit. ‘If she is into hexing people, she probably knows who’s talking about her behind her back, and who isn’t.’

He stared at me. ‘Shit.’ he said.

Combos for Cats

I was sitting on my bed, smoking a bowl, staring at the bathtub. I hated taking baths. I had never willingly taken a bath in my entire life; I was almost positive of that. The idea of taking a shower, and therefore not have to sit around wallowing in my own filth, was one of the few genuinely useful concepts my parents had ever actually introduced me to. After my introduction to showering, I never took a bath again.

I wasn’t about to start now.

There must be some way to hook up a showerhead, I figured.

Behind me, someone knocked on my window, which spooked me a bit. Me being on the third floor and all.

Standing on the fire escape outside my window was an orange cat, so skinny his ribs were showing. He was bumping his head into my window.

‘Yo,’ I said to it, waving a hand dismissively. ‘Beat it.’ 

‘Mow.’ said the cat. I could hear it faintly.

‘I have nothing for you.’ I said, looking around my room trying to think if I had anything it might like.

‘Mow.’ it said, bumping its head into the window.

I had a package of Combos: pretzel shell with pizza flavored processed cheese squeezed inside. It looked a little like dog kibble, if you wanted to be ungenerous.  

Opening the window proved to be a bit of a challenge, as someone had decided to paint it shut; several times, by the look of it. Most recently in toothpaste blue. When the window finally did open, it did so with a tremendous cracking sound, which initially startled the emaciated cat. It ran off down a couple steps.

‘C’mere asshole.’ I said, shaking the package of Combos. The cat came running inside my room, standing on the table just inside. ‘Mow.’ it said, as if rather pleased with itself.

I shook a single Combo out onto the table, then ate two or three myself. The cat sniffed at the kibble-like piece, then licked at it, sending it sliding across the surface of the table.  I caught it before it fell off. ‘Careful.’ I said, for no reason. It’s not like the cat knew what I was saying.

The cat took another half lick before snatching the Combo up in its mouth and chewed at it, biting off some of the pretzel. It was only at this point I wondered if pretzel was even something a cat should eat. I figured most dry cat food was made of corn meal or something similar, how bad could pretzel be?

Then I wondered what pretzel was made of. I had never thought about it before. Had to be corn, I figured. But it could just be bread. Damn: a mystery. I ate another Combo, chewing slowly and trying to identify a flavor. The only flavor I could put a name on would be ... bland.

‘Mow.’ said the cat. It had finished its Combo.

‘Here.’ I said, and tossed another piece out onto the fire escape.

The cat ran after it.

‘So long, Xylophone.’ I said, closing the window.

I ate the rest of the Combos in less than five minutes.

I did not take a bath.