There are still times that I get carded in bars or venues.  It’s usually an indication that the establishment sits in an uptight municipality or they recently got tagged for selling booze to (too) young’uns.  I won’t give them too much trouble since they’re really just doing their jobs.  And also, a lot of venues have guys at the door with necks thicker than a redwood tree.  I just show them the card and move on with my life.  People say that I should take it as a compliment.  Hardly, they aren’t looking at me and thinking that I might be under 21.  They’re doing it because some asshole council member wants to make a statement.  It would be great if it was a compliment but I’m not that naïve.  I’m not standing there thinking “Gee that new moisturizing cream is really reaping dividends.”  I’m usually just anxious to get in the door and get settled. 

Largely not nessa

a delay in the next beer

thirst waits to be quenched

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1086114

Cannibalized Haibun: Schaefer, George: 9798416456573: Amazon.com: Books

I skipped out

on the poetry reading

at the free library

where I was scheduled to read

a new brewpub opened

just down the street

and my whistle

required a little wetting

so I walked down the street

oblivious to any consequences

or hurt feelings attached

my name was on the list

for the open reading

They’ll call my name

and be greeted with silence

and they’ll call my name again

going once going twice. . .

Perhaps, I consider,

my best reading ever

as I belly up to the bar

and order my first beer

but I’m also feeling

a little frisky

so I order a shot of Jameson

to chase the beer

I really don’t know why

I felt so nervous an hour earlier

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1101450

AMERICAN ZEN KOANS: Schaefer, George: 9798809062107: Amazon.com: Books

It amazes me

I think in blue rhyme

of language splattered

across sullen minds

of timid boys

pistol whipped by sergeants 

and bullied into 

this transgression

by subconscious dreams.

Hidden desires

left unfermented

fossilized in back reaches

we cross that land

avoiding Mongol warriors

& wicked con artists.

And of fire

these eyes burn intensely

with that overflow;

the raging impassioned cry

of search and defeat.

This game is not over yet

No, this is not the end of it.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1070369

Choke the Chicken (or Auto Erotic Asphyxiation Gone Horribly Wrong): Schaefer, George F: 9798434885959: Amazon.com: Books

People need a sense of identity.  This can apply even when the identity is not such a good one.  I worked at numerous shit jobs over the years,  The pay was low and the benefits were poor.  Of course, they were just pass throughs for me,  It was a means to survive for a few months or a year or so.  But the employees often took on a sense of identity even if it was a poor one.  When things went wrong, they would exclaim, “Normal people wouldn’t put up with this shit but we’re North City Bus Armature employees.”  There was a sense of identity even in working a shit job.  People need that sense of belonging and sometimes it comes even when it’s a shit job.  Hey, I can’t be a rock star or an NBA star but I’m a North City Bus Armature employee and that is my sense of identity.

Sense of belonging

we identify poorly

deluding ourselves

into a sense of import

even under great abuse

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1121291

Someone

took the time

to offer sage advice

while all

I really wanted

was a quite space

to relieve myself

so I sit

& contemplate the words

Life is serious

It’s really yourself

you shouldn’t take
so damn seriously

I want to live a long life,

create art,

add beauty to the world,

help others

and make the world a better place

so I’m poeticizing

bathroom stall graffiti

cuz I really do think

my shit is all that

and doesn’t stink.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1080162

JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT IT WAS SAFE TO DO POETRY AGAIN: Schaefer, George: 9798449725561: Amazon.com: Books

Hitchhiking

Bristol Pike

thumbing a ride home

drop off at 7-11

to snag large Slurpee

and a pack

of Fleer baseball cards

no longer sure

why I collect

maybe I’ll get a Schmidt

or a Carlton

usually a bust

I get the scrubs

no one will remember

10 months from now

let alone

10 decades from now

but the Slurpee

is purple

and more grape

than I can handle

crossing train tracks

I follow Second Avenue

and slip back home

a new Van Halen album waits

the cradle

will indeed rock today

loud and clear

as Junior’s slipping grades

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1115641

We had our falling out
and she went on the warpath

I became the villain

in all her tales and pomes

And somehow

the best poem she ever wrote

is about

what an asshole I am

My response  was

to express pride knowing

I inspired her finest poetic moment

I sip my beer

and reflect

30 years later

still her finest work

perverse pride emerges

She probably doesn’t hate me anymore

She probably doesn’t

even think of me anymore

30 years later
still the best poem

she ever wrote

and I do toast a lot

when I drink

I can take twisted pleasure

even being the asshole
twirling my mustache

and howling with laughter

but, of course,

if people come

to love this poem

I suppose

she’ll have finally

returned the favor

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1090198

MEANDERTHAL MAN: Schaefer, George: 9798826122174: Amazon.com: Books

Sitting at the Trestle Inn indulging in a Trestlewide.  There’s a candle on the table and a video on the wall.  It’s footage of Nancy Sinatra presumably singing “These Boots Are Made for Walking”  but there’s no audio.  There’s a young lady on stage in the backroom dancing some go-go.  I snap a couple pictures of the dancer that come out blurry.

Young lady dancing

leisurely gyrating hips

enthralling vision

I notice that “Dancing Queen”  is playing on the P.A.  I make no comment on the soundtrack.  In my younger days, people got beat up for listening to Abba.  I figure that a day of reckoning may be upon us.  Perhaps another Trestlewide is in order.  I am greatly enjoying watching the dancer.  It’s an easy decision to make.  We do need to restore some order in the universe.  It’s not like I need another Trestlewide but I want one.  And I’m content listening to the music and watching the dancer.

Pour me another

let the moment continue

perception slipping

slowly draining of clear thought

just one more moment in time

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1107525

SQUANDERED SERENDIPITY: A Second Helping of Cannibalized Haibun: Schaefer, George: 9798354488872: Amazon.com: Books

You finish up a poetry reading at a coffee shop in West Philly.  You feel you missed your mark on your performance.  Things were a little off.  Well, those are the breaks that we have to live with.  Voice was weak and hesitant.  You would think the extra strong coffee would cut the lethargy but not tonight.  Best to get home quickly and lick your wounds.  You need to find your way back to the train station to catch the R7 toward Trenton.  Homeward bound you have to consider your options.  Stand and wait for a trolley or order an uber ride.  These decisions weigh the moment.  You will get there and make it home.  That seems to be the only thing you are sure of.

Uber running high

although the optics are cool

I see the trolley

30^th Street Station calling

me back from Baltimore Ave.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1069175