September 30, 2013n First draft poem: Joanne

Joanne

Part I:

My shopping cart is filled to the brim

with desires and fancies:

sourdough slices, shaved parmesan

root beer and Kettle chips

raspberries and plums

goat cheese, granola

I grab Advil and Tums.

Bisquik and Nestles Quik

brown eggs and sea salt

Free ranging chickens  

peppercorns to be ground

I grab a sweet treat as I’m standing in line

If I walk away from these bags, nothing changes for me

I still will be fine

Part II:

Joanne’s shopping cart holds her worldly belongings

Full, overflowing, and yet nothing much in tow

Folded cardboard, a sweater

three rough but clean blankets

sheets of plastic and tarps for the wind and the rain

A gallon of water and a few magazines

Recyclables gathered until enough to reclaim

A box full of what

little

she really must carry

from hard bench to alley or on a good day, 

an alcove with shade and a breeze

but she still wears a cap and a jacket

though it’s eighty degrees

Part III:

Each Sunday she makes her home

in the same garden courtyard

at my office building

she lies in the sun, reading,

her sunglasses stay on so I can’t see her eyes

Her unlined face mocha, could be 40 or 65

humming a low tune I can’t recognize

I am ashamed to be surprised she is lucid, well-spoken

possessed of a quiet dignity and grace

that allows me small kindnesses -

a key to the bathroom

and pillows, which she returns to my suite

with a thank you note - and though she gets food stamps

I wonder when she next will eat

I give her some chocolate and my Sunday paper

and later I ask what she’s reading about

The new health care law, she says

she still can’t afford it

hopes she won’t get in trouble, that no one will tell

she’ll just do without doctors

and try to stay well

Epilogue:

Joanne has no home.

But Joanne has a name.

Joanne is my sister.

And Joanne is my shame.

September 10, 2013 A Politically Incorrect Poem

So I was in the butcher shop the other day and both amused and horrified myself with the thought:  I am tired of the same old meat.  Thus the inspiration for this poem/punk song.  With a nod to Jonathan Swift.  To all my vegan/ish friends:  please forgive me this silliness and I hope it does not offend you.  I admire your values greatly in this regard, and find myself woefully lacking, hence the self-mockery.

The Politically Incorrect Paean to Meat

My friends have all gone vegan,

gluten- free, no GMO’s

but I feed my addiction

with those hint of lime Tostitos

They all eat kale and quinoa,

whatever the fuck that is

but me I want some onion rings,  

and gimme gooey cheez whiz

         But the thing that I like best of all is meat, yeah I said it, meat

         The only trouble is there’s just not enough of it to eat

         Flesh from cows and pigs and chickens is all I ever see

         There’s a whole wide world of animals,

         Just waiting for a fricasee

Yeah, I love tritips, breasts and thighs

I like my burgers rare and thick

Can sink my teeth into a pork chop

Enjoy that corn dog on a stick

But I’m tired of the same old thing

I want something new to masticate

An emu, or a leopard

Put a panda on my plate

Let me deep fry up a dingo

Add a lemur to my stew

And on my shishkabob

I’d like a meerkat, maybe two

       Yeah the thing that I like best of all is meat, I said it , meat