A taste of my work
Thought I would post a couple of samples...
"Somebody's Daughter"
I watched as somebody’s daughter
walked up and down the sidewalk,
pausing a moment to fix the strap of her shoe,
then continue up and down the sidewalk,
glancing at each car that passed by,
offering an occasional friendly smile.
Once or twice some fella would saunter by,
and they’d chat a moment,
then the guy would keep on sauntering,
and so would she,
until some dude in a flashy car pulled up
and she’d stop at the passenger window
to exchange some
words.
And after a short while
she’d slide into the passenger seat
and the car would roar off.
Then, 45 minutes or so later, she’d return,
and she’d walk up and down the sidewalk.
and she’d pause again to fix the strap on her shoe.
This went on day after day after day,
week after week,
up and down the sidewalk,
fixing the shoe,
smiling,
chatting,
driving away with some dude in his car.
This ultimately got me to thinking…
With all the cash this gal’s raking in,
you’d think she could afford
far better
shoes.
"Season in Hell"
The damn alarm blasted at 6:15.
I slammed it off,
and spent the next five or so minutes
staring at the ceiling over me;
then I managed,
as I always do,
to slide my body off the bed,
allowed my feet to touch the cold floor,
and sat there, trembling,
vigorously rubbing hands over knees, over arms;
and as my blood started to flow,
I went to the window and stared out
and into a chaotic, swirling snowy morn,
and at the street below
where children romped gaily in sunshine
mere days before.
Still rubbing my arms,
I shuffled into the bathroom,
did my thing,
doused warm water over my bleary-eyed
face,
then shuffled out to the hotplate
and put water on
to boil.
I shoveled some instant into my
“Employee of the Month” mug,
then
shuffled to that window again
and gazed into that white miasma.
And I stood there—
just stood there—
and all I could muster was
a pathetic shake of the head, as I muttered:
“Here I am—another season in Hell.”
