Charles Rammelkamp - Issue 34

RammelkampJC@Gmail.com

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Doomed Diva

Théophile Gautier coined the phrase.

The poet called Giulia Grisi,

the Italian opera singer, circa 1830s,

“goddess” to describe her sublime talent,

her soaring arias for Bellini and Rossini.

Since then the word’s been used

to label any fierce, passionate performer –

Maria Callas, Beverly Sills, Judy Garland,

Diana Ross, Beyoncé, and more:

Martha Stewart, Serena Williams.

But Grisi? Killed in a train accident

on a trip to Saint Petersburg

just after crossing the German border,

her last days spent in Berlin,

buried in Paris, Père Lachaise Cemetery.

Clytemnestra

When Brad encouraged their daughter Kelly

to go ahead and marry Craig Kilroy,

Marcia knew it was a mistake,

knew, too, her husband’s social-climbing motive,

Potawatomi Rapids small enough to dope out all the angles,

Brad looking to elevate the family

through marriage to the family that owned the Ford dealership.

But Craig’s abuse and infidelity even exceeded

Marcia’s worst fears,

so when Kelly inevitably killed herself –

the wrist-slashing more than a plea for help –

Marcia’s need to punish Brad likewise

went way over the boundary.

A shame what she did to his dog.

Airgun

Until my friend Oliver reminded me,

I’d forgotten the nickname we always used 

for my older brother.

His middle name was Addison,

after our mother’s father.

Somehow we contracted this to “addi,”

which sort of rhymed with “anti.”

“Anti” what?

This was the late 1950s, early 60s,

the atomic age, television shows 

about World War Two heroes,

anti-aircraft guns featured as children’s toys.

Somehow “Airgun” stuck.

Has anybody seen Airgun?

Where’s Airgun?

Does this belong to Airgun?

Phone call for Airgun!

He was never David,

just Airgun.

And then he died.

“We’ve lost Airgun,” my twin brother

told Oliver over the phone.

And we lost the nickname, too.