evolution

One cold winter’s night
I sat on a stone bench
that was like a slab
in a funeral parlor.

Which is rather funny,
because the bench was
next to old John Purdue,
who is dead.

I turned and asked him,
“Mr. Purdue, I’m lonely.
No one here loves me
and I don’t belong.”

Said John, “Shut the
hell up, willya?
It was quiet here
till you showed up.”

I said, “Goodnight, then,”
got up off my grave,
and left old Purdue to his.

[This poem is part of a collection titled Smile Like You Mean It.]

IX: Happy Hollow

Every town should have a road called
Happy Hollow Road. It would be nice to
lose myself on this road the way I have
lost myself on all the others.

[The poem is part of a collection titled Smile Like You Mean It.]

In search of company

I would have bought her
a drink, but she could have been
Carrie Nation’s twin.

----------

Temperance

“Just as I was finished shaking your martini, the old broads from the Temperance Movement busted in. You spun around on your stool, holding your martini and a cigaret — complete with a hint of your fire-engine red lipstick — and sized those broads up, saying, ‘Honey, you need to live a little before your time is up.’

And then you grinned, and took a slow sip of your martini, swirling it in your mouth a bit before swallowing.

Then — right then — is when I—” [fin]

[This poem is part of a collection of original poetry called Smile Like You Mean It.]

VIII: Marsh

On a grey day in January
I trudged through two feet of snow
(and an inch of lethargy)
to my car,
started it,
and drove to Marsh.

There I bought:
a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon,
some frozen ravioli,
a cute blonde girlfriend,
fresh oregano and basil,
tomatoes,
a number-10 can of self-worth,
a wedge of Parmigiano-Reggiano,
a couple of candles,
a couple of wine glasses,
and some ambience from the bulk bins.
And a habanero pepper
for another purpose.

The cart with all that stuff in it
was my make-believe cart.

My actual cart contained
a pound of hamburger,
a can of chili beans
a six-pack of Samuel Adams Cream Stout
and that habanero that now
has more purpose than me.

[Author's historical note: This undated poem was written roughly one year ago, when I was working at the Kansas State Capitol. It was written during a break the proceedings of the House Health and Human Services committee. This poem and its three predecessors are about a pretty lobbyist who came to the hearings. I recently rediscovered it when I cleaned out my apartment.

I never did catch her name.]

Mr. Chairman,
a point of personal
privilege, if I may.

I would
like to take that
tall dark-haired girl out

to lunch.
All in favor signify
by saying “aye”.

[previously: 1 --- 2 --- 3]

[This poem is part of an original series titled Smile Like You Mean It. It was written roughly one year ago.]

VII: Just Two Hours

It’s just two hours from here by
train. The Windy City, I mean–

It’d have been fun to see Wrigley
Field; take in some Cubs baseball.

It’d be more fun to have cocktails
and split a hotel room with her.

That tanned co-ed with the belly-
button ring and the bare midriff.

But, you must take what you can get;
I got a steak and put the Cubs
on the radio. Could be worse, eh?

[This poem is part of a collection titled Smile Like You Mean It.]

And the answers
to all your questions seem easy
in that metalight.

[This poem is part of an original collection by the author titled Smile Like You Mean It.]

I got lost in Terre Haute one time.

I took a different road
to Kansas from the one I take
most times.

Hell if I do that again –
if I get lost again, it will
be in a place of quiet, of fields
and forests of love and being
loved — of campers and drunken songs
of contentment, not Terre Haute.

[This poem is part of an original collection titled Smile Like You Mean It. I wrote it over six years ago.]

As I watch you walk
along the wind-swept shore, the moon
waltzing on the water,
I’m carried by the breeze
and your flowing hair
to a place I’ve long forgotten –
the warmth I felt
and the love we shared
go away when
the tide rolls back to the dawn.

V: Old Chauncey Hill

Lights – reds, purples, blues
dancing with the young folks
in the bar, with fun
and libations flowing freely
Dancing all night, walking
home arm-in-arm. Man,
      I’m cold.

[I lived on Chauncey Hill just two blocks west from the region marked in red in the central business and entertainment hub of the Purdue University community.]