I was at a family reunion on Thursday night, so I didn't get a chance to post a poem. I hope you won't hold a grudge.
In case you are completely unaware of time and space, today is Christmas Eve! How very festive. My family opened gifts this morning and now I am acutely aware of my inevitable adulthood. What was once a day full of toys has turned into a day of coffee makers, fancy lotions, and socks. The worst part is that I was still just as thrilled. I'm practically 150 years old, but it's fine. Any of my friends would tell you that I'm the grandpa of the group. Yes, grandpa. If you haven't seen me in a while, I should tell you that my wardrobe mostly consists of oversized man sweaters. I'm definitely going for the "sophisticated patriarch" aesthetic. Irony is a hobby of mine.
Anyway, I'll get on to the poem. This one was written almost two weeks ago, another of the many written all at once late one night. I think this might have been about a dream I had... or something. I don't really remember, but please enjoy!
Working woman. 12/12/16
Folding chair.
Pen.
Paper.
I sit on the curb of the street paved with brick
with a sign that reads
"One dollar, one poem."
People pass.
Wait.
Wait.
Finally, a salt and pepper man pauses
for a moment by my chair.
"Write me one."
I nod.
Think.
Scribble.
His beard reminds me
of the jagged cliffs of Wyoming.
He reads.
Smiles.
A dollar falls into my hand.
I grin,
holding the crumpled bill.
I'm a poet now.
Thank you so much for reading this hot mess of a blog. I truly appreciate it.
Have a safe, healthy, and happy holiday season. <3
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