Thursday, September 19, 2019

Closet Poet

I have a folder on the computer titled: Songs, Raps and Poems. It’s a collection of my occasional poetic outbursts over all these years. While looking for a poem (coming soon in the next post or two), I browsed through some of my work and discovered —I like them! I can see a future publishing project gathering them all together. Meanwhile, here are four short ones from 10 to 13 years ago: 



56 years old, I step onto the bathroom scale.

Further proof that the universe is expanding.


The blonde in front of me in line
is talking on some fancy new gadget.

Off to the side, four guys are staring.
Are they checking herout
Or her machine?


“Attention, passengers. This train is stopping.”

In 1989, the voice on the Atlanta airport shuttle train
was robotic, a stuttered a-rhythmic monotone
without inflection.

In 2008, the voice has become almost cheery.
It could be the girl next door, your dental hygienist
or your 3rdgrade teacher. 

That’s progress.


The hardest part of flying
is the five minutes after the seat belts are released
with their click of impatience
and the jetway crawls to the plane door.

This one is slower than usual and we weary adults,
sullen and travel-worn, stand in the aisle 
sighing, slumped and simpering.

Meanwhile, the four-year old girl
stands on her seat and aims the overhead air nozzle
at her face. Shrieks with delight as her hair blows behind her,
opens her mouth wide to swallow the wind. 
And we grumpy grown-ups think,
“What didn’t we think of that?”

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