Jim Churchill-Dicks

Snoopyland

1. I am the Fonz

It is the year my mother finds a new husband.
They honeymoon in Monterey. All I get
is a t-shirt- lettered in glitter blue marquee
which reads, “The Fonz”. I am five, and still know

how to make the best of things, so with my hair slicked
back, and mirrored sun glasses at the table,
I exclaim “Sit on it!” when the new man
of the house tells me to finish my mashed potatoes.

The Fonz does NOT! Dig. Spankings--
“Heeeeeyyyyyyy,” I howl on the playground
and strut around Snoopyland, the hippy name
for my too cool for school kindergarten.

“Whoaa!” I growl to Bonnie, my classmate chum
and teacher’s daughter, as she grabs my hand and pulls
me under the rusted twirly slide. I hold my breath
as she kisses me, our lips clamped shut as she hums,

“hmmmmmmmmmmm” for as long as she can breathe,
then seperates- a sloppy, dramatic, “muahhh!”
Giggles and more giggles as she runs away.
Twitterpated, love inflated- the Fonz. Digs. Chicks.
Bonnie’s shoulder touches mine as we melt crayons
on her hot, hot plate, and as we churn cream
into cottage cheese, I lose my cool, my eyes dopey.
The Fonz is dead. He’s jumped the shark

and my heart wants to bust with music.
I trade in the Fonz for a sea-blue
suit. A leisure suit, but don’t be fooled.
Things are about to get serious.

 
 

2. I am Neil Diamond

It is Christmastime and on stage, I point
the microphone and yell “Hit it!”
to the pretty piano player with
the long, long blonde hair, the 1970’s
brush fifty times on each side blonde hair,
the pre-Farrah Fawcet sexy cop blonde
hair, with eyelashes out to Nebraska!
Like a freckle-faced Neil Diamond, I sing

“All I want for Christmas is my two front
teeth” and by two front teeth I mean Bonney’s
lips! I punctuate the song with rhinestone
thrusts and microphone twirls,

hooting “Whoooooo-!”

and the house comes applauding down.

 
 

3. I am Charlie Brown

Spring comes too soon
and Bonnie now loves
David. As I Charlie
Brown my way to
my mother’s car after school
her AM radio croons Mathis.

Before we leave the lot I am bawling
in snotty stutters, my mother asks,
“What’s the matter with you?”
I point indignantly to the radio,
and shout “Mo-om!” as if she were
a four-letter word, “Feelings!”

 
 

4. I Write the Songs

I ain’t been alive forever,
but I know my first favorite song.
The pretty piano player knows it too,
‘cause I sing it alone on the playground.

During nap time she places the tune
on my chest. I’m wearing a Hulk t-shirt,
though I try real hard not to smash things.

I write the songs that make the whole world sing.

“That will be you someday”, she whispers.
She musses my hair.“You’ll make all the young girls cry.”
I don’t remember her name, but let’s call her April,

since that is the month I leave. My father
is waiting in Florida. On the last day,
April gives me her hippy guitar,
with the macramé strap, the hand-painted
fretboard of peace signs and smiles. “Write
those songs Jimmy Dicks,” she snuffles
and hugs me. I nod, my face in
her hair,

but I don’t wanna make no one cry.

Jim Churchill-Dicks received his M.F.A. in Creative Writing at Goddard College in January of 2005, and now teaches both High School and College Level English Literature and Writing for the Crook County School District. His work has appeared in The Other Journal, Kairos (Mars Hill Fellowship), Kaleidoscope: a yearly anthology of Montana Writers, Fire Magazine, and Vain Magazine. Additionally, his book length poetry collection Jacob Wrestling was a semifinalist for the 2005 Dorset Prize from Tupelo Press. He is also the founder and editor of Torches n’ Pitchforks, a teen online literary journal.