Saturday, December 17, 2011

Election Year

Coke or Pepsi?
Make your choice.
Don’t waste your vote,
you have a voice.

this year will be
a great election
Don’t tell me
there’s no selection.

the shelves are full
the aisles are packed
from floor to ceiling
varieties stacked

Pepsi in bottles
Coke in cans
So many choices
just two brands

look at all
the different sizes
all tastes the same
so no surprises

What’s that you say
you don’t like cola.
Are you a
tree-hugging, granola?

you’ll learn to like it
wait and see
it’s the sweet taste
of democracy

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

The Invisible People on the Benches

   One week at the farmers market I noticed one of the invisible people. I don’t know what made me notice the man sitting behind the bushes where we set up our pop-up tent to sell cheese, but I did notice. He had a small two-wheeled cart filled with some worldly possessions, some cans and bottles, a sweatshirt, a baseball cap, a yellow hard hat and a walking stick. He sat there just soaking up the early morning sun to help mitigate the effects of the damp cool morning.

   I finished setting up the booth and talked to a few people, made a sale, then looked back to the bushes. The man was gone, he was invisible again.

   The following Saturday I was looking for the invisible man in the bushes. He wasn’t there, but as I was setting up I looked across the street and there I saw him walking toward the park. I recognized the yellow hard hat. I continued to set up and when I looked up I saw another of the invisible people sitting on the bench across from our spot. This time it was a woman holding an insulated coffee mug. She had a cart also. Her cart contained a collection of items all stacked and wrapped in plastic bags. It was hard to differentiate the many shapes  but everything was all wrapped up to protect them from the elements.

   After that I started looking for the invisible people. I started to notice more and more of them each week. They started to become regular fixtures and started to lose their invisibility. Some moved around searching the trash cans for cans and bottles. Others staked out a small plot of turf in an out-of the way part of the park  or on a little used bench. I started to see the same people each week and even knew where to look to possibly find a particular person.

   There was a older African American man who always sat on the bench diagonally across from our space. He always showed up about an hour and a half after the market started and always came from the direction of the railroad yard. He also pushed a two wheeled cart and in his cart was a sweater, a bottle of water and a few books. I think he picked that bench because of its proximity to the weekly entertainment that the market usually provided. He seemed to enjoy the music although he never talked to anyone and seldom looked up. He wore a pair of worn black leather shoes and that’s were he eyes always seemed to be focused.

   This particular Saturday as he was sitting there looking down at his shoes as a woman walked by leading a dog on a leash. It was a slow day and I was just sort of people watching. He noticed the dog and came to life.

   “Can I pet you’re dog?,” he blurted out.

Looking a little startled she said , “ I guess it would be okay.,” and she hesitantly moved towards him.

   “He’s a beautiful dog,” he said, “Is he registered?”

   “Yes,” she replied.

   “Black and Tan Coonhound,” he continued, “that’s my favorite breed of dog.”

   Then he proceeded to talk at length about the breed and their characteristics. He talked to the woman for quite a while all the time slowly petting the dog. He thanked the woman, gave the dog a final pat on the shoulder and she continued on her way making the rounds at the market.

   After she was well out of sight I went back  to paying attention to my own affairs when I heard someone crying uncontrollably. I looked over and the  elderly black man was sobbing .

   He noticed me looking over at him and said ,“I haven’t touched a Black and Tan since I was ten years old,” then went back to looking down at his shoes.

   He was no longer invisible.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Dollar Store Poems

not every poem is elegant
not every one’s a gem
may not even be relevant
but how can I condemn

if words are weak
or meter’s wrong
in crazy speak
it drags along

is poetry just for the rich
to read and pick apart and bitch
or is it also for us fools
who never went to high-priced schools

nor learned the rules made way back when
by so called educated men
men you’d think could have done better
than to start a word with a silent letter

are the thoughts less viable
’cuz the words are unreliable
is the message we are selling
watered down because of spelling

will it affect my disposition
to end a sentence with a preposition
I think that I’m okay with that
but wondering where you all are at

Friday, December 2, 2011

Enjoy the View

There’s more to her than meets the eye,
she’s more than just a pretty face
she’s …, um…
Actually, there is nothing more to her than that.
What you see is what you get.