I kicked his ass
after he told me he never
heard of Memphis Minnie
I abhor violence
and yet still I must insist
it was the right thing to do.
In truth, it was a verbal asskicking but much deserved. A person at a blues festival bragging on how much he knows about the blues really oughta know who Memphis Minnie was.
DELIGHTFULLY WEIRD: Not So Fancy Tanshi Vol. 1: Schaefer, George F: 9798808523722: Amazon.com: Books
and so then
I pulled
the old pour
a 24 oz. Blue Point toasted lager
from Patchogue, NY
into a 24 oz. XL Dunkin’Donut
Styrofoam cup
so I could conceal
my transgression
I could sit on the train
and sneak sips
while creating the illusion
of drinking coffee
any environmentalist will tell you
Styrofoam is evil
and not biodegradable
and I can’t argue that point
but at least I found a way
to make it slightly less offensive
and inspire warped verse
to corrupt our youth
SLIGHTLY LESS OFFENSIVE | PostPoems
I
can’t
be sure
the billboard
wouldn’t tell a lie
the advertisement must be true
BILLBOARD WOULDN’T LIE | PostPoems
It was gonna be
a long ride
and the Lyft driver
needed to gas up her car
She apologized several times
I used my phone
to search for nearby gas station
one right along the way
before hitting I-95
It all worked out
We found the gas station
easy enough
it was a straight shot
and she fueled up the chariot
now chariot refueled
we made onto the highway
heading home
I was greatly amused
as she apologized again
It was a slight inconvenience
and a minor delay
I’d get home a few minutes later
and there was nothing good
on the Boob Tube anyway
save reruns of McFarlane toons
I greatly enjoyed the chat
and almost regretted getting home
It was a human situation
Anyone can be low on gas
She still got a 5 star rating
and a juicy tip
a rare “Above and beyond”
was allotted
Don’t give them out lightly
but this time
I felt it was earned
I lost the cadence
somewhere along the way
The pure word flow
dissipated into hazy memory
and left me standing
at the altar
like a jilted lover.
words scribbled on a brown napkin made from recycled paper. Probably written sometime in the late 90’s.
The young lady
with the green hair
& tattoos on her face
& a skeletal nose ring
is laughing at my jokes.
She’s actually cute
but not as cute
as her dark haired friend
with the uncluttered face.
They’re both smiling
and laughing at my yarn.
I’m not sure
if they’re laughing at me
or with me
and I’m too afraid to ask.
I lean back
on the wooden chair
and sip my coffee
It’s a rather pleasant afternoon.
Women in orange
outside playing basketball
in a prison yard
a nervous guard gripping gun
fingers tensely holding tight
Those late night Jersey Transit trains
It’s always a gas
well past midnight
up to no good
at a Dead and Company show
Queens in the rear view mirror
departing Manhattan
riding that train
stuffed with other Heads
trying to get home to Jersey
or PA as it were
feeling no pain listening
to conversations
the electricity
of reliving each song
one conversation involves
a new age-y guru type
proselytizing on the value
of breathing through the nose
Another couple, apparently
don’t appreciate advice
on nose or mouth breathing
even if it weren’t their conversation
They begin mocking the nose breathers
putting them down
and ragging on and on
another young lady takes offense
to their mockery
and an argument ensues
I’m just trying to reflect on the show
The mockery is ignorant
on multiple levels
It is healthier to breathe thru the nose
and there’s no reason for abuse
some folks are entirely too proud
of their own ignorance
but I suppose they are mouth breathers
Nose breathing is easier
when you keep your mouth shut;
a skill some of us never learn
I’ll have truly earned
the scorn & derision
of the critics
whence I finally
release this dribble
but I won’t walk the plank
of Orizaba
& follow Crane to a death
of either asphyxiation
or shark meal
the pundits will get their say
and the reviews will be severe
but I fear not
the harshness of acidic pens
that tear my heart to shreds
and leave me for dead
the kindness of strangers
has bailed my ass before
& plucked me from the abysss,
fed me, rescued me
and sent me on my way
Surely, some kind soul
will prop me up again.
KINDNESS OF STRANGERS | PostPoems
AMERICAN ZEN KOANS: Schaefer, George: 9798809062107: Amazon.com: Books
The assignment was to place Huckleberry Finn in modern day New York and write a short story. I was a high school kid in the 80s and only spent a few field trips in New York. Of course, I watched many TV shows and I did have my imagination.
Mr. V didn’t cotton to me. I was a dirty, wrong side of the tracks kid and he was a GQ preppie. I figured I would just go balls to the wall on my yarn. I set the tale in Harlem and had Huck running into prostitutes and drag queens and trying two kinds of Mary Jane (One a plant and one a Ho for the naïve among us.)
I turned in a completely uncensored tale fully expecting to be failed and possibly sent to the principal’s office. I skipped school for fear of repercussion. Then I learned that Mr. V loved my story and read it out loud for the entire class. He had to censor spots due to complaints of two classmates.
I returned to class greeted with a smile from the first fan of my literary stylings. The class discussed my story. Mr. V managed to use the word beastly twice in a 45 minute period. I did take it as a badge of honor—as he was talking about my poetry and fiction. Ït’s beastly but beautiful.” They say don’t judge a book by its cover and I think 2 people learned a lesson that week.
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