Michelle Rick

Would-be messages from the East Village, in 140 characters or less.

First Steps Toward Marriage

The 1st time they met, she listened. The 2nd, she spoke.
The 3rd, they crossed swords over Sushi, & fought until
their chopsticks broke

Welcome to the Three-Day Week

Monday to recover, Friday to prepare. Then comes the
Insanely Unseemly Weekend – leaving only Tuesday,
Wednesday, Thursday, there

Maids Gone Wild

Bar maids & chamber maids, old maids & French maids,
going on drink-raids, jumping on beds made, dancing
like demons in a big hotel

Man On A Milk Crate (Avenue A)

Too ol’, too tire. Brains got damage in a telephone fire.
My eyes are red, belly blue. Who care for me now? Arab
kids run a deli, that’s who

Comments Board

On the blog they say I’m a ‘pathetic human being’ & to
just ‘go home.’ Well, I am home. Where else’d I be?
And I thought they were family

New Blub Street

His publisher won’t talk to him, ditto his editor &
glamorous French ‘agent,’ last seen in Marrakesh (or
Hell) sunbathing poolside with BHL

Square Footage

You may love the ‘hood, but if someone offered you an
apartment across town twice the size for the same price,
you’d move for good

Night Thoughts

Are graves just place marks for ex-humans, best forgot?
Do the people you speak to hear? Useless perhaps to ask
such questions. But to not?

No Title

Only once has he seen a pistol fired. By his brother,
from an apartment window, twice across the Seine.
Bastille Day. He never saw him again

Husband & Wife

‘I give up.’ ‘You don’t mean that.’ ‘I’m done, I’m
through. I’m hanging my hat, parking my pen.’ ‘Aren’t
there some dishes to do?’