Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘Muse’ and other poems by Adam Kluger

By: Adam Kluger


The instant coffee was tolerable.

Bizzy Palaster nodded his head to Iggy Pop and sharpened his pencil.

A scan of the messy London flat suggested the night before had been somewhat memorable as the floor was littered with beer cans, condom wrappers, and Anti-Brexit flyers. Revolt always leads to loud political debate, unhinged and violent nights of sex and nihilism, Bizzy mused. Elanie or whatever her name really was had to leave early to walk the dog. She was a peach. Soft and sweet.

“I wanna be your dog”, Iggy sang defiantly on the small radio in the kitchen.

Bizzy screamed along with Iggy as he started to sketch and think about Elanie’s pale white ass, pink candy-sweet pussy and subtle breasts.

The dark charcoal pencil scratched the paper in loops and striations. Bizzy paused to take a hit of a pinner and then exhale. The sketching became more intense. With his left hand, Bizzy smudged the thick lines to create shadows.

Thinking of Elanie had him hard again.

His right hand jerked the pencil all over the page. He wanted to be inside her again. Slamming into her as she moaned so beautifully with her red hair unfurled on her freckled, muscular tattooed back.

“Fuck me! Fuck me like I’m your bitch now, eh!” Elanie had screamed.

Bizzy was happy to comply.

Elanie had given him “the look” at the Bloody Wolf Pub after the rally. After multiple shots of Jameson and pints of Guinness and slow dances to the juke, she grabbed hold of Bizzy’s manhood and whispered, “Is this mine now?”

Bizzy groaned a guttural “yes’ Ma’am”

“That’s right ya bloody bastard,” she agreed.

“Now let’s get out of here and take care of this proper,” she laughed as she grabbed and squeezed Bizzy’s business and pulled him to close to her again for another wet, teasing kiss with her aquamarine eyes wide open as they furiously interlocked tongues.

When she had had her fill with that she playfully but forcefully spanked Bizzy atop his Levis, bit his earlobe and whispered “I’m fucking you tonight…and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Yes, Ma’am”

“That’s right.”


He Spoke of Marionettes

It didn’t matter

It didn’t matter

It didn’t matter that she broke out of the embrace and said goodbye.

It was time to meet her friends at dinner.

That was fine.


It didn’t matter that there would be no kiss at the turtle pond.

Despite walking by the Romeo & Juliet statue or at Shakespeare Garden where the elaborate, corniced stone bench held them together. Silent. She was cold. He was comfortable. So comfortable that he would be glad to do just this. Lean against each other. Not talking. No big need right then.

It was the first date.

He bought flowers and cleaned up the apartment. She would never see the flowers. Or the bowl of fruit. Bananas, tangelos, and grapes.

No. Wait. Not tangelos, but nectarines.

The grapefruit beers in the freezer were a slushy dark orange inside the bottle, with some residue on the bottom. Peculiar things you notice when you end up alone in your apartment.

They hugged when they first met and it was one of the best hugs he had ever felt and he didn’t want it to end so he lingered and so did she and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that school kids were yelling and running by. It didn’t matter that she had gotten lost and that when he finally spotted her he was surprised, and happily so. When he spotted her standing on the roots of that large tree looking at him, he was glad. Glad that it was him she was looking at, even though she was looking at him from behind aviator shades. He tried to remove her sunglasses and she stopped him. But he saw her eyes. How very blue. She had silverish eyelids or at least he thought she had put on make-up that goes on eyelids. He was still thinking about her eyes because now he could not think of the right name of the translucent shade of blue of her irises but they did seem to reflect light like one of the stones in a ring in the front window of Tiffany’s. Were they cobalt blue? Electric blue?

They held hands and that one way fit and the other way didn’t. So they went with the one that did not intertwine the fingers, even though he thought that way to be naturally, the more intimate. It did not feel right, so he decided to move to hand-in-hand and they both tacitly agreed, almost immediately, that this other way would be the way they would hold hands for this first meeting and perhaps, it would be this other way that they would hold hands again. At least this is what he was thinking.

Coincidentally, but off-topic, earlier, he had walked right by a blind man asking for help crossing the street. The blind man had been standing on the northeast corner near the grocery store and the tone of his voice was pissed off. Pissed off that nobody was helping him. Pissed off at being blind, probably.

But he was merely speculating and pondering all this as he walked right by the blind man on his way to get supplies. Yes, the same grocery store where he bought tangelos, no wait tangerines, and grapes, and bananas. And also grapefruit beer and irises. The purplish-blue flowers. The flowers had a vibrant azure to them just like her eyes. Specifically her irises. But he didn’t notice that, at first, because, to begin with, he was actually quite enamored with her glossy, red, sparkly lower lip. He wanted to kiss her then.

He waited till the turtle pond when she turned to him and said, “You’re quiet.”
Boldly, he responded, “I was just thinking this would be about the best place ever to have a first kiss.”

She rebuffed him gently and panic set in.

Maybe she didn’t dig the beard.

Fuck! Now what?

He went back to being an affable tour guide providing details about the marionette cottage and Egyptian sculpture. And the kiss when it finally took place was not a good one. It was rushed and tense and perfunctory. It was a slammed door in his face and she was going to meet friends.

“Call me later,” she said.

“Why? Do you want to meet up after you see your friends?”

Nah. She wasn’t jumping at that idea.

As he walked back toward his apartment he pulled his phone out of his pocket. The phone had pocket-dialed her, so he left a voice message that he tried to make somewhat humorous, all the while thinking she didn’t pick up, even though she knew it was me.

It didn’t matter really. But maybe sort of, it did.


The Problem with Mitzie (Pt. 2)

Blake Schnellenberger had to admire Mitzie Kerfuffle a little bit.

Almost as much as he feared her ability to fuck up everything he worked so hard for. Mitzie had an uncanny knack of finding a loose thread and pulling it. Bad news. Tonight she was drunk as usual and the conversation devolved further and further.

What Blake wanted to tell her was don’t ever fuck with ME ever again.

Blake could feel Mitzie’s pain deep inside because he knew what that felt like. To feel alone and scared and pissed off and hopeless and helpless and wanting to dig out of that hole, that quicksand with every fiber.

The problem with Mitzie is she was fearless. Mitzie unscrewed the top of the bottle.

Glug glug glug.

Her heard spasmed involuntarily as she grimaced at the awful taste of the cheap vodka that kicked like a mule and filled her belly with fire. Pushing 45. That door was almost closed. She looked at the mirror and then took the empty bottle and chucked it at the wall. It was time to do what she had been doing every waking minute for months. Check-in on Montgomery’s social media posts. her teeth gnashed as she saw his latest post. An article on internet dating.


Then she erased it and went to her FB page and wrote: To quote the immortal Leonard Cohen-“-halle-fucking lujah!” I am reborn…then she texted Blake..he was always nice.

[Text: Blakie, I’ve been at SharkPool for more than 3 months do you think I should talk to Bob about getting a raise and change in title?]

[Text: IDK Mitzie, It took me a couple of years to get the top spot and I had to pay my dues and then some…dealing with a family situation right now…sorry…maybe we could talk during the week?]

[Text: I’m not saying you got the job handed to you Blake–I just feel like Bob doesn’t take me seriously and I’ve got a lot of ideas…should I text him?]

[Text: Definitely NOT. Mr. Beauregarde already told me he is tired of getting texts and emails from you all the time and he made that clear in no uncertain terms…He threatened to fire all of us if you keep texting him all the time. It’s Sunday night Mitzie. He has a family]

[Text: What are you fucking afraid of Bob? Is that why you kiss Montgomery’s weasly ass all the time.]

[Text: Mitzie, I’m dealing with family stuff right now but trust me when I tell you this-if you cross the line with me again with another disrespectful text- I will handle your problems with SharkPool myself. I don’t need to get drawn into your bad drama with Montgomery and I certainly don’t want to work with anyone who disrespects me or is disloyal]

[Text: I hate that little prick Montgomery so much Blake he promised me things and then…and then.. showed his true colors…all yellow –a total coward… I’m going to quit this lousy newsletter too…God bless you Blake you are the only good person in the bunch and also Ethel, she’s a sweetheart too…]

[Text: and another thing Mitzie I’m not afraid of Mr. Beauregarde, I just respect protocols and boundaries…I wish you would too.]

[Text: Fuck that Blake–If I see that little motherfucker Montgomery at the water-cooler I’m going to kick him in the balls and scratch out his eyes…do you think I was raised to be treated like a whore who gets fucked and thrown away like a piece of garbage? I have more self pride than that. I was the leader of my girl scout troop and I voted most likely to star in a reality show by my high school class. I don’t give a fuck about protocols –I want to get paid and I want Montgomery fired.

[Text: I can’t do this right now Mitzie–like I said it’s Sunday night and I am dealing with bigger problems than your lover’s quarrel…and as far as I know, there are absolutely no grounds to fire Montgomery. If there is anybody who deserves to let go because of improper behavior it’s you Mitzie…I can’t keep warning you–no more bothering Mr. Beauregarde]

[Text: Blake that little prick Montgomery tried to fuck me in the backdoor…can you believe that shit? Did he think I was some sort of prostitute? I’m a good girl. I don’t do that for anybody but my husband when I find him …[sobbing] that kid’s a total skeevy perv. He should be fired for trying to rape me, Blake…He wanted to sodomize me [sobbing] who does that on a second date?]

[Text: Jeez, I’m sorry Mitzie…I know you are upset…maybe just calm down, wash your face with cold water, take a walk or something…it’s not good to get so worked up.]

[Text: we are in my bed and he flips me over on my hands and knees like a dog Blake…and then all of a sudden I feel his finger in my asshole..he put some KY on it thank G-d for that but I seriously think he wants to do me in the shitter…who does that Blake…I wanted to give this kid babies and make him meatloaf and potatoes, my family recipe, and have a nice life together…he fucked it all up and now when I see his smarmy little smile all I can think of is how I want to bash him in his mother-fucking face Blake…he’s no better than a fucking Harvey Weinstein in my book, Blake]

[Text: Ok, listen Mitzie, Let’s talk tomorrow when you aren’t so upset…from what you are describing and this is definitely not my business and definitely not anything that I should be dragged into…your relationship with Montgomery –sounds like it started off as a consensual situation and then took a bad turn…you are both adults and you both…]

[Text: My ass Blake…that little weasel tried to fuck my ass with his tiny little prick…Madone! I almost shit the bed when he touched me down there…Blake would you ever do that to a proper lady?]

[Text: Mitzie: I’m sorry I’m going to have to go…I’m not comfortable with you discussing your personal life like this with me–it puts me in a very awkward position. I’m sympathetic to you and I think you have a number of terrific qualities but I’m not the person to speak to about this sort of stuff.]

[Text; That’s fine Blake–I’ll just call Bob and tell him his social media “expert”, golden boy Montgomery tried to stick his tiny pecker in his top reporter’s bunghole…would you like that, Blake since you are always so busy?]

[Text: Mitzie, don’t threaten me and if you do that Mr. Beauregarde will fire the whole lot of us. He said exactly that to me regarding your crazy texts]

[Text: My texts are crazy? I’m not the one sticking a finger up somebody else’s brown starfish Blake, that’s where I make doody…I think Bob would love to know his Social Media Golden Boy is a frickin pervert.]

[Text: Mitzie, If you want to go ahead and get everybody fired including yourself- Go right ahead…I gotta go.]

[Text: You’re right Blakie, I had too much to drink and I feel like hurling…God bless you, Blake, you are one of the good ones I am so blessed to have you in my life-If only I could punch that weasly motherfucker in the face I would be fine.]

[Text: OK …feel better…take a cold shower and drink water…sounds like you are having a rough night.]

[Text: I love you so much Blake you are like my guardian angel]

[Text: no problem, Mitzie get some sleep and feel better]

[Text: Kissy Face emoji]

[Text: Thumbs up emoji]

Blake turned off his phone, walked to the kitchen, popped the top on a cold beer and sat at the kitchen table shaking his head.

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