blue plaque, rick rubin

The Blue Plaque

Hail mighty drops of rain
Septic from the summer sky
A sky the hue of gunship grey
A storm that never meets the eye
Somewhere a tree deep in a forest
Is stricken by a lightning ball
But in this stuffy, rancid city
Scrapers rise but never fall.

Soaken to my nettle skin,
Down hill looms my dreary den
And with it a torrent, fecal brown,
To meet the Fleet down drains of men
Up I gaze to the topmost crib,
Curtains hide the stinkin' lung
The mustard walls that once were cream
Except for where a picture hung.

But something here is quite amiss
I blink and rub my plasma eyes
A blue plaque at the window side
What joke is this, what low surprise?
My sodden hand leaves door to slam
I bend to check the chain of mail
I curse out at the water bill
And turn to face old Widow Frail
Ahem...

Has she seen the plaque upon the wall
The Devil's work or council same?
She moves like lightning through the door
And shouts, "You must be quite insane!"
"What joke is this? I'm soaken through,
There's nowt up thur but brick n' moss
If you've got me on camera film
I'll trip you up with dental floss,
Plaque indeed!"

Evening finds me low and dry
Staring at my masterpiece
The siren bottle locked and chained,
Waiting for a quick release
What road to take?
What path to tread?
What course of thought?
What haunting dread?
What deity will lend an ear?
What talisman have I to wield?
To fail is now my crushing fear
Broken is my trusty shield.

The stringed angel I once loved
Stands silent in the pallid gloom
An affair that ended long ago
Yet still we share this very room
This very room
Where test-tubes bubbled
The mad professor
The sound of stink
The crazy natured genius,
To think that one day...
Oh to think.

And there she lies
In her plastic coat
Hiding every perfect note
Go forth my whore,
Betray, betray,
I suppose you will be cast away.

The dead of night,
Paralysis
Such terror I have never known
A cloaked figure nigh the bed,
The quickening of metronome
A ghastly face
A cackling laugh
Old Widow Frail
Inside the plaque
The figure starts to dissipate,
And so returns unto the black,
Black, black of night.

Awoken by a thunder clap,
Unceasing rain that beats on pane
A twisted, fatty, muddled head
Must feel like this
To the living slain
I stumble down the tricky stairs
Umbrella poised still fighting sleep
Appraoch the door of Widow Frail
And tiptoe past the old crone's heap,
And breathe...

Eternal twilight, morning damp
I wade across the river road
And glance back to my window high
There's no blue plaque on my abode,
But wait!
What of my masterpiece?
She must not bide nor I delay
To this end I must release
The dream of every yesterday.

The work of art placed in the bag
Once more I creep past Widow's door
I cross the now congested road
And glance back as I did before
What trick is this?
The plaque is back
A faint, translucent disk of mist
It holds my stare,
It holds my mind,
I try my upmost to resist
Heedless of the traffic now
And drops upon the canopy
A statue in the pouring rain
Spellbound by iniquity
Inside the disk appears a face
Bearded with a toothy grin
Balding with long flowing hair
I know that face,
It's Dick Rubin!

Enlightenment doth warm the soul
How could I have been so dim?
A bell takes one almighty toll
The masterpiece must go to him.

The face then morphs back into mist
The blue plaque now solidifies
There's lettering upon the disk
And I can not believe my eyes,
My name!
My name in beveled font,
Lived here from...
Splash!

Infected water stings my eyes
Laughter fades with the engine sound
I look up to the magic place
But there's no blue plaque to be found
Just Widow Frail beside herself
Cackling like a witch in flight
She throws the window open wide
And shouts down, "Well, it serves you right!"

I smile and then I take a bow
The storms have turned these days so strange
In the dark I've seen the light
There's one detail I need to change
And maybe after I am gone
A blue plaque really will hang there
I suppose I'll never really know,
I suppose I'll never really care.

© Severn Dwyer. 2007

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