Barbie and Superman
little girls know that Barbie is not real
that they are not Barbies
but hope to be anyway
little boys know that Superman is not real
that they are not Supermen
but hope to be anyway
Category Archives: Poetry
Week 3, Day 17 – "Barbie and Superman"
Week 3, Day 15 – "Spring"
Spring
magnolias bloom
reminders of you
a s(c)ent embrace on a breeze
Week 2, Day 14 – "Movie Theater"
Movie Theater
As I walk out of the movie theater the smell of rain and colder air hit me. The rain had passed and with it there was a break in the summer heat. It was light out and the rain was just starting when I entered. Now it was dark except for the orange light from the street lamps and a few cars driving by. There was only one couple watching the movie. As they walked out I could hear them ask the standard what did you think of the movie question.
I didn’t really think much of the movie. I just wandered in to get out of the rain. I hadn’t been back here since we broke up. We used to share a root beer and a small popcorn. Neither of us had much money back then. We we in college and hadn’t started on our real lives. Graduation changed things. I found a job, liked it, but spent too much time working. She was having trouble finding a job that she could be happy with. We were drifting apart and I never even noticed.
My mind came back to reality and I shoved my hands in my pockets and started the walk home. The dampness made the air chilly.
Week 2, Day 13 – "Jimmy's Bus Stop"
Jimmy’s Bus Stop
Muzak cracks “Hey Jude” on the three-dollar speakers.
The bus terminal waits for the next arrival.
The Green is always early. The Orange is always late.
No one speaks at the bus terminal.
Jimmy sits in his motorized wheelchair
interrupting the silence by singing along with the Muzak.
Old Mrs. Grayhair, Cigar Bum, and Mr. Serious turn to make a fuss,
see that that Jimmy is “special” and turn back to doing nothing.
Everyone tries to forget Jimmy and his singing.
No one speaks at the bus terminal.
Jimmy sings.
He doesn’t know the words.
He doesn’t sing well.
Mrs. Grayhair goes through her big cloth old lady bag
looking for a distraction.
“Shut Up, Man. You’re driving me crazy,” Cigar Bum can’t take it any longer.
Jimmy stops singing.
Everyone is happy now.
Mr. Serious steps out his cigarette butt as the Orange finally arrives
Everyone gets on the bus but Jimmy.
Jimmy sits silent in his wheelchair.
No one speaks at the bus terminal.
Week 2, Day 12 – "Drinkin' Buddy"
Drinkin’ Buddy
Thirsty hot, thinking that it would be nice to have a drink, I met Roberto. He stumbled toward me in the brick alleyway behind The Blue Parrot. There aren’t many people who share my aesthetic of drinking, but I could already tell, Roberto was one who did. It seems to me that if you find something that you like then you should spend as much time as possible doing it. Some ambitious young people fail all of their lives to find something that makes them happy. I was fortunate, I guess, to have found my bliss early.
Roberto was a friendly sort, so when I suggested we have a drink, he was very helpful in finding a location. Usually it takes me awhile to find the good places, the right feel, the right atmosphere, but with Roberto as my excellent guide it took no time at all.
Los Dos Pacos. Horns blew, and the drums kept the Cuban rhythm playing on the jukebox in the back. There were a few tables around the place; most still had the remnants of the lunch rush. No one greeted us as we walked through the dining area toward the bar, but I still felt the familiar welcome of a place like home. It was nice to feel the security of the bar stool, the rail for my feet and the substantial wooden bar to lean on. A young Mexican man came out from the kitchen, noticed us, and called to the back room for the Pedro. He then went about clearing the tables. The bartender, Pedro, came out from the kitchen finishing up the last bit of the lunch that we were taking him away from. I ordered two beers and smiled at Roberto.
It was good to have someone to drink with. He didn’t have a lot to say. Some people are just like that. You don’t have to talk to say what’s on your mind. We continued to drink drafts the rest of the afternoon. Even though I had just met Roberto, he was already my best friend.
Week 2, Day 11 – "On the Bus"
On the Bus
The bus was running fifteen minutes behind schedule, so I was about frozen to death by the time it pulled up to the stop. When the doors opened the warmth from the over-heated, over-packed bus greeted me as I boarded. I took off my mittens so that I could fumble through my wallet and find my pass. The driver nodded and I turned down the length of the bus to find an available space that I could cling to and forget the cold, forget the day, forget that this was my life now.
Everyday I catch the same bus and see the same tired faces coming home from another day. When I was a kid I thought that when you grow up you get a job, a car, a wife, a house, and you are happy. My parents seemed happy. My parents had lots of friends and they all seemed happy. I just assumed that that was the way things were; everybody was happy all of the time. The happy people don’t board this bus. Young mothers of young kids, bag ladies, tired old men in worn out pants and jackets from suits they never worn new, these are the people who ride my bus.
I ride my bus and I fit in. No one notices that I don’t belong. I am reflected in the window with the darkness outside and I don’t notice that I don’t belong. I melt in with the rest of the hollow people of the reflected glass. The lights from the street lamps and neon signs of fast food restaurants slowly flow by. Every few blocks we pick up another or lose a couple. Eventually there is enough room.
Week 1, Day 5 – "Wolfie’s"
Come as You Are, Open all Night
Insane-i-tarium and Bar-B-Que
Part I: At first sight:
Another Friday night looking for some party that a friend of mine told me might be happening somewhere around here. The directions were a little sketchy, but it was either look for the party, beer, and hopefully women, or stay at home and debate whether the Victoria’s Secret catalogue was publicity or porn. Lord knows I’ve had that debate far too many times. Bent glass tubes with blue glowing gas telling me that this was Wolfie’s. The sign for some reason brought me out of my mind and made me want to stop. I was surrounded by the chaos of flashing lights and neon — liquor stores, by the hour hotels, cigarettes and painted ladies. Out of all of this I notice Wolfie’s. The blue light tinted the two white doors of the entrance and I noticed in small black letters Come as You Are, Open All Night, Insane-i-tarium and Bar-B-Que. I had to check this out.
Week 1, Day 4 – "Meaning of Life"
Meaning of Life
Yes, it is possible to have too much bacon.
Week 1, Day 3 – "The Start of Something"
The Start of Something
the early worm isn’t so lucky
as it is gobbled up at the crack of dawn
by the bird who shit on my windshield
what a way to start a day
bird shit on the windshield
and the wipers just streak the shit
all of which I find so fucking funny
that I laugh so hard that I blow booger snot
out my nose all over the steering wheel
it is not even 7 am and I’m not even out of my driveway
and the day is already bird shit and booger snot
the only thought worse than backing out of the driveway
and getting on with the day
is going back to bed
back to the bitch I married
my first love but not my only
Week 1, Day 2 – "Chicago Style Women"
Chicago Style Women
Bone white woman quietly wanting for sun
Brown born woman, fast Spanish, and a big smile
Bronze woman flirting, laughing, such a good time
Thick thighed woman layered, bundled, and ready
Pixie sticked woman showing capri ankles
Flared pant hipster in vintage thrift shop treasures
Dark curly
Long, brown, straight
and a razor cut
Some made up
Some pale faced
and some winter blushed
It’s good to be back
