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.