Friday, November 9th, 2012...4:28 pm

ronald baatz | the turquoise door

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THE TURQUOISE DOOR

Last night, as we were drifting like

two sleepless sheep in bed, I told my wife


she shouldn’t worry that I might be alone

if she were to be the one to die first.


This seems to be a grave concern of hers,

one that on occasion she will mention to me.


To ease her mind I told her that if I were

to outlive her, god forbid, I would marry Betty,


and though happiness would not be mine from

the very beginning, in time, I’m sure, both joy and


contentment would make a new home in my heart.

Unfortunately, my telling her this did not seem


to ease the concern possessing her eyes that

looked like two large brown worry beads. So,


she said to me, “Betty who?” And as quick as

a rabbit on dead grass I replied, “Betty Who, the


waitress at the Happy Kitchen Chinese Restaurant,

where we’ve been going every New Year’s Eve


for Pineapple Duck these past ten years.”

She asks me how long I’ve been seeing Betty Who.


I tell her for ten years. “When exactly?”

“Every New Year’s Eve.” “When she’s waiting on us?”


“Yeah.” “What makes you think this beautiful woman

would want anything to do with a grizzled piece of


decrepitude like yourself?” “If she didn’t, then I’d resort

to the black waitress at the diner.” “What’s her name?”


“Sarah What.” “And just what makes you think that this

lovely lady would tolerate the self-absorbed dimwit you’ve


so successfully become.” I say nothing. “If she tells you to go

take a hike, then what will you do?” “Funny you should ask,


I was thinking we should try that new Mexican restaurant

at the edge of town, that place with the turquoise door


that’s enshrined so invitingly with

those tiny Christmas lights.”

1 Comment

  • Have been reading Mr Baatz’ s poetry for years, first l noticed that Ronald is beautifully not present in many of his poems, his observation of life is digested,pared down and put out with as much reality as he can make palatable to himself and his readers,and sometimes there just damn fun.but always real.

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