The crumpled bill diet.
I just Passed a glassed trapper,
Containing a reflective wrapper
Framing a high fructose frustration
In my lack of a sugary sensation.
Looking through the force field of glass,
I punch in the code and pass
My dollar bill through the slot
But it’s not as flat as I thought
And the machine returns my dollar bill.
So I do some reverse origami but still
My single just won’t mingle with machines,
So a dollar less of candy fills my jeans.
The he-she-we sounds
Sometimes I’m lost in personal pronouns
The he-she-we sounds
That are our connection to each other
With words that weave another
Thought that sticks in the mix
Of he-she-we.
Hello?
I just received a pocket call
And all I could say was “Hello?”
“Hello?”
“Hello?”
I didn’t say hi
As if I knew
That you
Wouldn’t respond to
A hi or a hey,
Nope, I had to say
“Hello?”
Worthless
I couldn’t help but look and think oddly,
He was a man trapped in a woman’s body.
This was when he was younger, obviously not now.
Now he was a grown man that somehow
Found the strength to stand up and share
That he had been stuck in there
For nine long months, unprotected on this earth
Until his mother gave birth, giving him worth.
Restroom
If I had my choice, I’d not repeat
That warm feeling of heat
That caught me off guard today
In an uncomfortable way
As I sat on the toilet seat.
Progress.
My will to go on had passed away
But something changed my mind today.
I started walking to I-don’t-know-where,
Desperately trying to get there.
And when I picked up the pace
I was just running in place.
But there’s something in the doing
I’m undoubtedly pursuing
As I resurrect my dead will
Just by going on the treadmill.
Carry a poem.
I always carry a poem with me
But sometimes it’s hard to see
Since lines are spread on paper scraps
Or locked inside my finger taps
Impatiently waiting for translation
Of an idea into creation
Of a poem I’ll read to you
So you can have one too.
This poem is not worth reading.
Stop now, this poem is not worth reading.
If you want, you can continue feeding
Your mind with these rhymes leading
You through words that aren’t worth reading,
But only until it ends.
Orange juice and tooth paste
Brushing wasn’t any use
Since I broke the flavor truce
With orange juice.
Whether I like it or not
That spot in my mouth
Went south
When my tooth paste
Became time-waste
And aftertaste.
You come down the aisle
in ala carte style.
methodically, you lock the cabinet on wheels
that steals my attention,
instinctive prevention.
It’s a survival-of-the-fittest thing
So that you bring
Me a drink.
Eyes look up
Longingly for a cup.
“notice me” they blink,
motioning for a drink.
“Fan-freakin’-tastic” I think.
Your serving everyone but me
I’m sitting here, hands free
Fingers on the traytable unfolded
Tracing an empty cup indention molded
Into the plastic,
“Fantastic.”
Then your lips move setting sail
To words that prevail
In the motion of your lips.
A precursor to my sips?
I couldn’t hear what you said
Over the hum of the airplane,
Panic is sent to the brain.
Confused, I sniff my armpits
I thought the lips I read had said
“Good that you don’t stink.”
Turns out she had said instead,
“Wouldn’t you like a drink?”
But since I was checking for armpit slime,
I didn’t respond in time
And I’m now left with out a drink
Sitting in fictitious stink.
BonjourPoetry 