Each month, write a new collection.
It was a cordial first meet.Maintenance workers clanked, garbage cans below your window Sun streamed through the window glass, although you could not see it.You said you could see, a grey area there, Which grew bigger every day.I listened.Sterile antiseptic layer of airContained your bed,Handsome youth with joking smileThe steamy smell of reheated croissant rose from your morning tray As assistant spoon fed you cereal. You said your girlfriend would soon arrive with real food, An egg McMuffin.I asked, do you smell the coffee, Feel the arc of the mug handle at 9 o”clock? Feel the cereal bowl. Put a spoon in one hand and target spoon-fulls yourself. You said, its messy.Why bother when people are here to helpI said, what happens when people Are not?You share your story. The gunshot wounds. The legs unmoving.You’re excited for therapy, when do we startLets do it, I said.My role is to help you do things yourself.Lets get out of bed, get dressed, brush teethHow do you do those things?As you move in bed, bowel smell eruptsYou ask for the nurse right awayI comply and direct, Grab the bedrails here Hold cloth in this hand As antiseptic cloud Envelops.Our meets are challenged by scheduleYou say you need your restI hear you’re a star in PT.Weight lifting, stronger each dayBack on your feet soon You say.Getting dressed is very slowNumb skin a nemesisYou transfer well to therapy mat But high assist to get out of bedThe recall path to find your toothbrush Is not practiced, Unimportant to eyes That will get better Soon.We spend time ordering a wheelchair You say it’s temporary but cool.A bowel and bladder war wagesBetween us.Intimate shame, Hanging smell, Technique.Many weeks pass andYour girlfriend and others are gone A distant relative, is the discharge plan. You say this person will help And you are excited to leave.I cordially wish you the bestAnd if its ever neededResources here for pathfinding blind.As antiseptic cloud envelopsA turning for another day.
This is your strongest so far! It's an amazing poem Jeanne!
The Zen of Painting a Wallyou start with preppatch any cracks, holessand the patches smoothclean the walllay out the dropclothespop the lid of thefive gallon bucketwith a screwdriverdrop the roller screeninto the bucket, tap afinish nail into theside of the paint brushdip the brush into thebucket, don’t dip itto the wood, thenpaint the cornersslip the rollercover on the rollerI prefer a narrow rollerwith a close naproll the roller on thescreen, cover all the padroll off the excessstand next to the walllet the rock music fromthe radio flow in youfeel the zen of the momenteyes closed, feel the peacehold the long pole withboth hands, roll the painton the wall at anglespainting Ws on the wallnever worry about the paintgetting on hands, t-shirt,jeans, bare feet - moveto the rhythm of the music
I love the rhythm and the music of this poem man!
Dear diary, The damn power went out at work yesterday! We were in the dark for hours. I'm standing at the deli counter, minding my own business, then POW! It all goes black.immediately, management spins into panic mode, as they are herding the angry masses out the front door. The rest of us are walking the back aisles, the receiving area and the bathrooms, looking for opportunistic thieves. Once the store was empty, the real fun began. The back room associates rolled out literally pallets of empty card board, so we could start sealing the freezer doors. While another group of us began emptying all of the open coolers into the large walk-ins. The shriek of shrink wrap echoed through the store, (along with a considerable amount of cussing) as associates desperately tried to seal the cold into the open bunkers in the meat department. All of this pandemonium, happening by the cold, unforgiving glow of our crappy emergency lights.Lucky me, eventually my shift ended and I got my ass out of there. I found out this morning, that the power was out so long, that the entire cold side of the store was a total loss. All that work for nothing, and all because some dope hit a power pole. As you can imagine, the customer bitching has been epic today.
Great! Love these prose poems!!
Washing DishesGross Grease SeepingStuck, caked and coating pots and other dishes.Can't they rinse off their plates.Dish soap adds the only pretty, clean and purifying scent.Soon this will be over and the plates will be white again.I'll be able to drop ice cubesIn clean cupsForgetting the stench of dirty dishes...Until I have to do my chore again.