Tag Archives: parties

Poems from My Day (10-31-16)

i have too much to share today i can’t get it out

1:
I spent this afternoon memorizing “Invictus.”
Then recording myself so I could check for missed words.
I can say it in 0:25 seconds flat.
There’s this wonderful pleasure that comes from being able to recite
And entire poem by heart.
So you can drop it when you’re out stuck on the beach
Lost in the night that covers you,
Black as the pit from pole to pole.

2:
I went to a party here in town,
One mom came up to me,
I know we’re parents but we like to party too.
She told me this twice, she forgot the first time.
Dressed as bettlejuice’s wife.
I feel I’m condoning her
By being there,
Not saying anything,
Watching her drink.

3:
My roommate sicced me on bouncy house duty
Untrained with 40 kids and parents.
I had to send reinforcements in the form of a second-grade teacher
Who knew better than me,
How to get ninja turtles out of the castle.
And she could tell the difference between Captain Americas.

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Poems from My Day (5-9)

Okay. We’re going back to ten poems in twenty minutes, because I can’t get anything out, and I need a structure. I’ll tell you what happened as it happened to me, as best I can, and do better tomorrow.

1:
We drove up an old logging road in her maroon, beat-up, ‘97 Jeep Grand Cherokee she’s named Gerdie.
I think she’s named it because she’s heard of other people naming their cars, not because the car has a name.
It’s the same with her kindness,
She’s nice because she’s supposed to be nice,
There is no goodness there.
That’s my least favorite kind of disingenuousness.
It might be because I’m from the Midwest, and that’s how I was raised,
I’m contrary on purpose, and stubborn and hospitable, and upfront.
So, for me, character flaws are cause enough to distrust someone.
They’re harder to change.
And I dislike her. She’ll only say thank you because it’s what’s expected.

2:
I have not come right out and asked her to drive me,
My pride wouldn’t allow it.
So, on her birthday, she asks if I want to go take pictures.
“Yes.” I say. “Always.” I say.
We drive up to a scenic overlook spot.
It’s almost like senior pictures, she says.
She brought a change of clothes.
She’s driving in her fancy new blue high heels.
She blow dried her hair.
I didn’t get asked to take her picture. I need prep time for portraits.
I do this for a living. I get paid for this. I don’t offer me for free.
If I give me and my camera, that’s one thing, if I take your picture because I want to, that’s one thing.
Why didn’t I bring it up?
I don’t stand for crap like this.
I don’t owe her.
But I do, because she drives me around, because I have no car.
And in her mind, I live in her house.
So I take bad photographs, because I’m blindsided, and didn’t have prep time.
And I’ll take the blame for that too.

3:
We could do something for your birthday tonight. It’s still early.
I suggest from the corner, hiding from the angry lady complaining about cramps and her friends.
“It’s 8:30.” That’s all the response I get from her.
How could I ever think of doing something so late.
There must be something wrong with me, like she’s always thought.

4:
Oh for goodness sake. Make a decision.
Pick one.
Both have good and bad sides, but are roughly equal.
Do one or the other and stop complaining.

5:
Quit talking work with me.
It’s Sunday.
And I know when my supervisor leaves, you’ll be my new boss.
But I don’t want you to be.
You like being in power, and that scares the hell out of me.
You’ll make a terrible leader.
But I can’t say that.
I’m going to go eat more asparagus from the grill over there.
And walk away from my future boss on a beach chair.

6:
What did you do for your twenty-first?
She doesn’t have many birthday parties.
I laugh.
Then laugh some more.
Good or bad, she asks.
I take another laugh.
Oh, it was bad.
I don’t even say, I’ll tell you about it when I’m very drunk.
Because I don’t think I will.
That terrible, awful, hell of a night.

7:
She doesn’t do black hair ties.
Who says that out loud?
I mean I can see someone saying it knowing they’re being ridiculous,
But to be so silly on purpose?

8:
I’m an asshole.
The maintenance lady’s son, wait they call them custodians,
The custodian’s son, who I think is not right in the head, helped me move boxes of books and shelves for the library.
The nicest anyone here has been to me is the mostly mute, slightly brain-damaged, ex-fisherman who didn’t have his overalls zipped up all the way.
But we got a lot done.
And I feel nervous around him.
And he walked me home, without permission.
I’m just making a face and wanting him to go away.
See line 1.
If I say I’m an asshole, it covers my sins, and I don’t have to work on fixing me.

9:
By the time I’m comfortable at a party,
Everyone’s leaving.
By the time I like someone,
They’re done.
I don’t have attachment issues,
Stop telling me that textbook from my early childhood psychology class.
Just because my parents divorced when I was a baby,
I don’t have abandonment issues. I’m perfectly fine.
It’s just that no one will ever love me.

10:
He’s coming over to make us fish.
King salmon.
He was supposed to come earlier last week. He kept forgetting.
The guy who made moves on me (and I let him)
Still “talks” to my roommate,
And didn’t respond to my last text.
Oh yeah,
This is gonna be great.
I think once you tell yourself to be cool, play it cool,
You’ve lost all your nerve.

10 Poems in 20 Minutes (Day Seventeen)

I’m a bit dark today. Well, darker than usual. So, warning, I guess.

10 Poems in 20 Minutes
Day 17

Poem 1:
I’ve yet to look at a happy marriage
I’m convinced they’re isn’t one
It’s just two people
Who haven’t yet come to spit at each other as much as anyone else they’ve met
Introduce one person or concept and the pair goes to shambles

Poem 2:
Maybe I don’t have it in me
Not today
I just won’t leave this place here

Poem 3:
Words come out of my mouth every one second guessed
Why this word there
That didn’t make any sense
You sound like a prude
I should have stopped talking there
I should stop babbling
Why do I open my mouth?

Poem 4:
All you need to know about my sister
I can tell you in one story
She woke up second and took a shower first
And sang through the bathroom door
I could hear her serenades through my own closed door
She walked out with towels and airs
I told her I could hear her singing
She said, I know

Poem 5:
Well, what do you make of it
Essentially
What are you gone do with your hands

Poem 6:
The guy we pay ten dollars to mow our lawn
Hasn’t enough brains to stop and ask for more gas
He putters in lines
I’m sure I’m forgetting to ask for something
That could make all this go away and stop my sputters

Poem 7:
There’s a pad of real butter melting in the pan I put there
Real butter
I try to spread it on my corn-syrupy wheat bread
To put on top of my processed American cheese product
To make a sandwich
I flip with my dollar store wooden spoon
Under my warped scraped black little pan
On the rented glass-top stove
I made lunch with my own hands
My hands seem real at least

Poem 8:
I remember, I remember a particular required math class
And Cash bought pot brownies the night before
He talked so it was obvious
The piddly assistant professor who taught turned to me
Next to my loud lover
And said, do you understand this,
Called me by name
I did
So we helped Cash out

Poem 9:
I walked up the slope to the tower dorms. I was late out playing.
There were two black party-dress girls in the circle drive, one dragging the other
She screamed, he raped me he raped me
Her friend said shut up, c’mon, let’s go
I stopped and started and stopped and skittish moved
The friend looked at me to make sure I wasn’t watching
I walked as calm toward the door, my feet the only ones who knew what to do

Poem 10:
Katie and Mike shouted obscenities toward each other
At this my first college party
I started at my vodka in a red cup that had bubbles and juice
She came from her comedy show that night
She had been so funny