There’s a sad little woman
with a cardboard sign
standing by the off-ramp
pretty much rain or shine.
The sign says “god bless you”
but I never look too close.
She wears those long dresses
that say I’m a child of god,
you an forget about my legs.
When I miss the light
and have to stop
I hold up a bill and she trots over
“God bless you, god bless you”…
Whoosh I’m gone.
When the light is green
I go sailing by, next time say my eyes.
Or we try a daring hand-off move
like passing the poor person baton.
The circus sounded louder, before it came to town.
The trumpeting pachyderm I was to ride, deafening.
But listening from the wings of the not-so-Bigtop,
The small town crowd made anxious sounds,
Then delighted gasps, to see me astride the tiny beast,
My red high tops dragging lightly through the sawdust.
Judging the beauty of little girls needs quiet.
Not the angry feed of mothers, charging backstage
To rescue little also-rans through the band room door.
Experienced masters of such ceremonies pretend
We do not hear their shame.
But the loudest sound is the tick, tick, tick
Of the song that ended while I was gone.
This room, this Studio, must never be silent.
Can they hear my panic as I bring the air
Back from the dead?
I am a fan of the poetry of Billy Collins. The following stanza is from a poem titled Piano Lessons
I am learning to play
“It Might As Well Be Spring”
but my left hand would rather be jingling
the change in the darkness of my pocket
or taking a nap on an armrest.
I have to drag him in to the music
like a difficult and neglected child.
This is the revenge of the one who never gets
to hold the pen or wave good-bye,
and now, who never gets to play the melody.
George Bush is the small boy
you shooed out of your yard
He smiles as he leaves because
he killed your cat and hid it
under your house
and you won’t know until it smells
and it pleases him
that you will know
I’ve always believed poetry is where you find it. On a billboard. A T-shirt. Or a blog. And the best blogs are personal and honest. From Dave’s Window:
“Everything is packed, the house is quiet. Stacks of boxes clutter the once-beautiful Morris manse, and the only thing connected to the outside world is my trusty laptop. The dog’s at my feet and I’m having coffee. It’s a sad day, the ‘last stand’ at the house my wife and I shared.”
You too could have represented drunk drivers. What a shame. It is very hot and muggy for a walk to Steve’s but I did it. the odor of urine really hits you when you walk in that old house. The pup had to sniff my shoes though.