The baggage of a lifetime’s in a truck
Whose dark exhaust makes hellclouds when it stops
And stings the eyes and lungs of rearguards. “****!”
Says driver Ed. “Someone might call the cops.”
“Step on the gas,” says Davis, riding shotgun.
“Let’s take the lead. My asthma might kick in.”
A dancing advertisement in a lot spun
His sign, and yelled “Hey, Smokey!” with a grin.
open when you’re sad”
said the envelope on the floor.
block letters, but her handwriting.
i was not sad but i was killingly curious,
so i went on whitehouse dot gov,
and in seconds i was furious and terrified
and sad too.
i opened the envelope.
wouldn’t you know it,
another envelope was inside.
“open if you want another chance”
this one said.
hmmm.
do i?
within this envelope
were probably more envelopes
but there was also something that wasn’t.
best guess from size, shape and flexibility
was that it was a hotel room card key.
i did want her.
i thought though that the hoops
she would like me to jump through
were a red flag.
just when i decided to do nothing, though,
my doorbell rang.
.
three weeks later
i am not sad
and i need no further chances.
Driving to work/A piano piece by Johannes Sebastian Bach plays/On K-Bach Radio/89.5 on the FM dial/The cultivated- and accented-voiced Charlotte Wilson presiding
I know little more than crap about music/But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about this composition
I do know about prolificty/And I know that to keep the rocket-burner fires burning/The creators must surprise themselves, entertain themselves, delight themselves first
And in this piece Bach seems to lull and then startle his audience/Building his tone structures with logic/Then opening up a trapdoor of slight dissonant strangeness/Then adjusting the off-putting with new structural logic/To put things right again
He keeps making and breaking these patterns/And in the end he breaks the pattern-breaking too/And ends his tinkling journey with a perfect landing
Joe, I tell his vagabond spirit, that was a party and a half. Thanks.
Well, Clay can be plastered to make a mold
And walls too for frescoes the paint to hold
We weep when plastered too soon & too old
But it’s liquor, not plaster, involved.
.
We metaphorize in our so-human race
Infusing locution with power and grace
And a grin may get plastered all over a face
When a meter and rhyme puzzle’s solved.
a man from ethiopia dices potatoes/while the lady who calls me papa/minces and mixes red and bell peppers/as a tall mother of teens slices turkey/a man who laughs like a kookaburra makes a boatload of refried beans in a tilt skillet/and three charming african ladies do yogurt parfaits assembly-line style.
i have had a steady gig slicing tomatoes/but am called aside time to time to put rice into five-pound bags/or lop the ends off red onions and then peel and halve them/or break a hundred and fifty eggs into a container/with care taken to not include the least bit of eggshell.
bloody mary mix is in sufficient demand/that we make it thirty gallons at a time./ranchero sauce must go from a hotel pan/to a one-gallon jar/and it’s too thick for a funnel/so be careful or you will make/a godawful goopy mess./but speed is of the essence as well/with this perishable item/so good luck.
the warehouse peeps bring stuff in to the cooler/in big paletted box blocks/they manipulate with motorized palette jacks./get em in get em shelved arrange them to facilitate/first in first out. it’s a fast clumsy dance.
the whole operation is a fast dance, sometimes exhilaratingly graceful. people want to eat well, safely, deliciously. we want to eat too, so we work work work and get paid paid paid. yay.
colorfill/chlorophyll/chloroform/coming storm
violet alyssum/violent asylum/valiant reliance/valid veined resistance
red readiness/bled sanctity/fledged steadiness/dread equity
willing vermilion/wailing rose madder/wallfalling scarlet/the crawl of an adder
lemony sunset/gethsemane onset/anemone capture/a cleansing a rapture
chloro renewal/caressment sensation/a flesh induration/a greensward to bathe in
deep blue tones come calming/a balm for the fever/a song a reliever/a singular psalm
i rode my soul to work today
my kia soul to be exact
encapsulated from the fray
and both our souls intact.
.
Afterword: About four weeks ago I traded my dependence on increasingly undependable and scary public transportation of more than ten years’ duration for a 2023 Kia Soul with about 31,000 miles on it. I don’t like the indebtedness that entailed, but I love the luxury of get in and drive away.
the social security administration/never sent me my 1099/and tax time looms/so i went online
i went online and clicked on Getcha 1099 Right Here, Kid
and suddenly was called upon/not merely to log in/but to prove incontrovertibly that i was who i said i was
which involved not merely to supply my social security number
but to take photos of my state-issued,
gold-star-on-the-front,
driver’s-license-on-steroids
identification card
and was that sufficient? nope!
ssa then commandeered my phone
(after they graciously got my permission)
and had me removed my glasses
and pose for a “video selfie”
which took three tries
and then compared it with my i.d. pic
and lo and behold and huzzah
i am indeed who i said i was
and from then the obtainment/of my 1099 both download and to-be-mailed hard copy/was a snap
but wait there’s more
a breakdown of all my social-security-taxed income was available/from the summer of 1970 on
which was fascinating
details on request
maybe
Yesterday at the grocery store/I hit the button for Cashback and then $60
“I worked hard all week. I want some walking-around money.”
Douglas at Bertha’s Café/Rang me up for $17 and change/On a Denver omelette and large coffee./”Keep the change, Douglas.”
Walgreens had my four must-have prescriptions at $5 each./Bye bye #2 Jackson Big-Head.
Walking across Indian School,/Then waiting for the light, a tall young man asked me how it was./”Things are terrible in our country,/But I’m still vertical and that’s great./How are you?”
He showed me his sign of woe./”I need to make rent.”
He still has a way to go.
We all want to be brave at the dentist
Though sometimes
When our mouth contains at turns
A mirror a nutpicker a micro-jackhammer
A wedge with a genius for finding fragile sensitive subtongue areas
A zinger a 500lb compacter
Cementum gold abrasion
And a thing that turns your gullet into a reservoir
We can’t help but feel like an enemy under illegal interrogation
And we can’t talk as demanded because our mouth is full of stuff
But we know this is all for our own good
So we tell ourselves Relax
And it turns out all kinds of muscle groups and areas public and private are not relaxed
Our eyebrows are trying to crawl beneath our hairline
Our left shoulder is totally relaxed
But our right shoulder is braced for a hit from a 340lb linebacker
Our sphincters all have ROAD CLOSED signs
And our fingers grasp cliff edge
But we are good soldiers
We relax
We live in our toes for a while
Or pretend it’s two hours in the future and we are watching the replay
And time spidercrawls on
And at last it’s time to rinse
And we run our tongue over pristine surfaces
Maybe even smile on our way out
Except on that last stop by the exit
Behold what it is costing
And will cost
OMA-GG
(O My Anti-Gingivital God)
But we get philosophical
Reflecting that ensuring that teeth won’t have to be pulled
Can be a lot like pulling teeth
One with Clay, Image and Text 